Nightmare
by nancy fan
Summary: Nancy is working with the Chicago P.D. when girls start to go missing.
1. Chapter 1

Tying her dark, silky hair back into a ponytail, Jenny pulled her new lemon cotton dress over her head to reveal a miniscule white bikini. Reaching down, she methodically gave her legs a thick coat of sunscreen, stretching to massage it carefully into her back and face. The day was sweltering hot. Bright sunlight poked through the thick blanket of tree limbs and foliage, casting rapidly moving shadows on the stony ground. The air was still and sticky after hours of baking in the sun. When the silence was broken by a snapping sound, Jenny whirled to find her boyfriend covertly taking photos of her.

"Hey Steve," Jenny asked, flirting, "what are you doing?"

"Just taking some pictures of my gorgeous girlfriend," Steve teased her. "Is that a crime?"

"No," Jenny answered. "How about you take some photos of this instead?" Jenny adjusted her bikini top, posing seductively.

"Ooh, hot," Steve replied with a whistle, his camera clicking away. "Definitely some good stuff." He snapped the camera off and slid it back into its bag, then walked over to his girlfriend and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close for a kiss. "You're amazing," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, his lips dotting kisses up her smooth neck.

Smiling, Jenny pulled away, retying the string of her bikini top. "I think you're amazing too, but we'd better not get too carried away out here. Anyone could see us."

"It'd be worth it," Steve promised, his hand lingering on her sun-kissed skin.

Laughing, Jenny shook her head and gazed out at the sparkling blue of the lake. Her skin felt sticky with sweat after the long day, and she ached for the relief of the water. "I'm going for a swim," she said. "Want to come? I'll make it worth your while." Her brown eyes gleamed with a mischievous sparkle.

"I can't," Steve replied, obviously disappointed that he couldn't take her up on it. "I need those photos for my class tomorrow. Some squirrels were running around at the bottom of the hill, I can probably get in some good shots."

"Well, okay," Jenny pouted. "If you don't mind, I'm going to stay here. The water looks gorgeous."

"I don't know," Steve said. "It's awfully quiet out here. What if something happens?"

"Like what?" Jenny asked, rolling her eyes. "A squirrel tries to kill us or something? Don't be ridiculous. It's perfectly safe." Jenny dismissed his fears with a wave of her hand.

"If you say so," Steve said doubtfully, pulling the camera out of the bag again. "I'll be back soon." He kissed her on the cheek, and she watched until he had vanished to the other side of the hill.

Her first dive was cool and deep, the icy water chilling her burned skin. She felt refreshed, fully awake, and when she resurfaced after her swim she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, enjoying the sun on her face. Soon Steve would be back, and she'd be able to cajole him into the water. She smiled, lifting her head to smooth her hair back, when her draining ears caught the snap of twigs.

A chill entirely unrelated to the cool water buoying her up, swept over Jenny. "Steve, is that you?" she called, a little nervously. Now who's being the sissy? she chastised herself, but scrutinized the bank anyway.

A raccoon burst out of the underbrush, and Jenny caught her breath in surprise, but leaned back into the water again. She ducked under, making sure she could touch the bottom, before she decided to head back to the shore and wait for Steve to come back. She surfaced to the sound of footsteps, carrying through the stillness.

"Steve?"

No answer but the continued footsteps. Jenny had to force herself to wade through the water to the shore, telling herself over and over that it was just her boyfriend playing a trick on her. By the time her feet struck the rocky edge, she had her arms wrapped tight around her, shivering in the chill, and she called again, knowing that if she sounded desperate enough, Steve would give up the game and answer her. When she saw a flash of red through the foliage, the bobbing of his ballcap, she almost collapsed in relief.

In her haste to reach Steve, she tripped over an exposed tree root and fell hard. Clutching her ankle, her face twisted in pain, she slowly tried to stand, keeping her weight on her uninjured foot. "Steve, come on," she whined, her voice high with nervous fear and irritation at him for keeping this up. "I hurt my ankle and it's killing me."

The form topped by the red ballcap appeared around a bend in the path, but Jenny's blood turned to ice when she didn't recognize the face beneath, the bloodstained t-shirt, the expression of deranged anger.

"Where's Steve?" Jenny demanded, aware of how defenseless she looked, in her tiny white bikini with her knee bent, keeping her ankle off the ground. Her voice was shaking, her face streaked with tears after her fall.

"Steve?" the man asked, mockingly. Her palm was braced against a tree trunk, to help support her weight; he grabbed her hand, his other coming up to trace a dirty fingernail down her face. "You won't need to worry about him anymore."

Jenny just stared, horrified, hopping awkwardly to keep herself upright.

"You'll be with him soon."

At the sudden glint of the knife, Jenny's eyes widened, and her terrified screams resounded, unanswered, through the empty woods.

--

Smearing some sweet strawberry jam onto her sesame bagel, nineteen-year-old Nancy Drew stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. As her father rustled the newspaper, she poured herself a mug of hot coffee, then leaned over to kiss him good morning.

"Morning, Nan," he replied warmly. "How are you?"

"Tired," Nancy admitted, stifling another yawn hard on the heels of the first. She dropped to the other seat at the table before taking a bite of her bagel. Weak early sunlight sliced through the kitchen blinds, and the radio released a reassuring drone from the corner of the counter. Nancy and her father settled into an easy conversation, sipping their coffee contentedly.

"Busy today?" Nancy asked, peering over the rim of her mug to look at her father.

"Swamped," he confirmed wearily. "I have two clients in court today, and I'm wall-to-wall with meetings all afternoon. What about you? How are you getting along with the Chicago PD?"

As a student in the forensic science program at Blake College, Nancy was required as part of her criminology coursework to spend eight weeks working in the field, with police detectives. The rest of her class had been thrilled at the prospect. Nancy had been thrilled just to have proper access, for once.

"Fine," Nancy shrugged. "It's actually kind of slow. I don't know what I was expecting, but it was definitely something more exciting than this."

"That won't do you any harm," Carson joked. "You get into enough trouble as it is."

"I do not!" Nancy exclaimed indignantly, then fell silent as the newsanchor's broadcast was interrupted by the breaking-news theme.

"Two local teens have been reported missing today. Jenny Gray, eighteen, and a high school senior, and her boyfriend, Steve Conner, were at Lake Michigan yesterday, but never made it home. A bag and several items of clothing have been recovered from the lakeside. If you have any information about their whereabouts, please call your local sheriff's department."

"That's strange," Nancy mused, taking another sip of her coffee. "If they ran away, wouldn't they have taken their clothes with them?"

"Stop right there, Nancy," her father said, holding his hands up. "You have enough on your plate without getting involved in any disappearances. Teenagers fall off the radar all the time, and more often than not they turn up again in a few days."

"I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right," Carson replied, draining the last of his coffee. "Now I'd better go, or I'm going to be late." He dropped a kiss on his daughter's head before gathering up his briefcase.

--

Swinging her blue Mustang into a vacant spot, Nancy ran her fingers through her long reddish-blonde hair and flung her cream leather bag over her shoulder. Despite the early hour, the police department was already bustling with activity. Harassed police offers were hunched over their desks, scribbling paperwork and answering perpetually ringing phones. Every surface was littered with discarded coffee mugs and stacks of files and papers.

Detective Harris was on the phone when Nancy slid unobtrusively into her office. Nancy smiled and Harris returned it, gesturing for Nancy to take a seat. Detective Harris was attractive, slim with shoulder-length brown hair and large almond-shaped grey eyes. As soon as she had replaced the receiver in the cradle, she turned to address Nancy.

"The chief is already throwing a fit about those missing teenagers," Harris said, sifting through some papers.

"There's no sign of them yet?"

Harris shook her head. "Honestly, it doesn't look good. Their wallets were untouched and still at the scene."

"That does sound bad," Nancy agreed, chewing thoughtfully at the end of her pen. "Maybe something will turn up."

"Now," the detective said, slipping on her glasses and shifting another stack of files, "Detective Casey is bringing in the boyfriend, from that stabbing incident downtown last night."

"I saw that on the news last night, how's the girl doing?"

"Not great," Detective Harris answered. "She lost a lot of blood, and they're not expecting her to make it. Anyway, I'll be interviewing the boyfriend later, and you can observe if you'd like."

"Really?" Nancy asked, her eyes lighting.

"Really," Harris confirmed. "I know things have been pretty quiet around here the last few days, but that's the way it goes. Next week we'll probably be swamped."

--

Nancy lay contentedly on the cream couch that night, curled up cozily against Ned, his arm wrapped tight around her shoulder and her long, tanned legs folded under her. Ned's parents had gone on a cruise to celebrate their wedding anniversary, leaving the house empty, and the two of them were spending as much time alone together as they could. The spacious room was lit only by a few glowing candles, and the remains of their takeout pizza lay cooling on the coffee table.

"Thanks for dinner," Nancy said gratefully, reaching up to kiss Ned on the cheek. "I was starving."

"Don't think I won't expect repayment later," Ned teased her.

"Oh really, and what would you mean by that, Ned Nickerson?" Nancy replied, eyes widened with feigned innocence.

"This," Ned said, pulling her on top of him so that she straddled his waist. The hem of her miniskirt high against her thigh, Nancy leaned in willingly when Ned pulled her down for a kiss. He buried his hand in her hair, and she shivered when she felt his warm breath on her skin. "You look gorgeous."

Ned's hand inched up under her top, and Nancy's breath suddenly caught. Arching, she moaned as Ned ducked in, trailing kisses against her neck. He traced one fingertip down the line of her spine before letting his hand curve warm against the side of her upper thigh, inching up to slide under her skirt.

Nancy stilled for an instant, then sat up, pushing his hand away. "We have to stop."

"Why?" he asked, reaching for her again, and she sighed when his mouth found hers. "Feels too good to stop," he mumbled. She stilled again when his palm rested warm at the small of her back, but when he didn't move, she relaxed back against him. Until she could feel him working at the clasp of her bra.

"Ned, we need to stop," she told him forcefully, pushing herself up again, then entirely off his lap. She smoothed her skirt down as he sat up, his hair rumpled, and she leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"You know I love you. I just don't think we're ready."

"Okay," Ned agreed mournfully, giving her a mock pout. "But your skirt and I need to have a talk, if I'm ever going to see it again." He gaze her shoulder a tight squeeze.

After a few more minutes of making out on the couch, Nancy sat up and glanced at the clock on the mantle. "I'd better go," she said. "Dad will be getting worried about me."

He walked her out to her car, and soon their steps slowed until he put his arms around her one last time. "Love you, Nancy," he said, kissing her softly.

"Love you too," Nancy responded, returning his kiss before climbing into her car. As soon as he was out of sight, she dismissed the familiar loneliness she always felt just after leaving him, and turned the radio up. Save a few streetlights, the houses in her neighborhood were in total darkness, their occupants tucked fast asleep in their beds. Parked cars stood in driveways, and bicycles, footballs, and scooters lay abandoned on the lawns, forgotten by their owners.

As soon as Nancy turned into her own driveway, the front door opened to reveal her father. Alarmed, Nancy switched off her headlights and swung out of the car.

"Thank God you're all right," her father said, his expression relieved. "I've been calling you for an hour."

"My phone's on silent," Nancy realized aloud, guiltily. "Sorry for worrying you so much, I didn't realize how late it was."

"It's okay," her father said, giving her a hug. "Another girl's been reported missing and I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Sorry," Nancy repeated, squeezing him hard before he released her. "What was reported about the girl?" she asked, as she followed him inside, her keen blue eyes sparkling with interest.

"Not much," her father shrugged, clearly coming down off his nervous high. "Another eighteen year old, she left a friend's house and in the five minutes' walk between. It's..."

"Wow," Nancy breathed, not even bothering to take off her purse as she settled on the couch, in front of the newscast.

"...all over the news," her father finished, wryly. "As you can see. I'll make us some hot chocolate, maybe there'll be an update."


	2. Chapter 2

"Morning, Dad," Nancy greeted her father, rushing excitedly into the kitchen, her long reddish-blonde hair flying behind her.

"Good morning, Nancy," her father said curiously, taking a sip of his steaming coffee. "Where are you off to at this time of the morning?"

"Just heading into work a little early, you know, make a good impression and all that," Nancy responded with a forced casual air, her blue eyes widening innocently.

"You know you can't fool me, Nancy," Carson said, shaking his head and regarding his daughter with some amusement. "Did you manage to sleep at all last night?"

"No, Dad, I just couldn't," Nancy admitted, chuckling. "Every time I closed my eyes, all I could think about was the case."

"Sit down and relax for a minute," her father advised, pulling out the chair beside him.

"I can't," Nancy insisted, biting into an apple. "I think I'm going to burst if I don't get to the police station soon."

"Nancy," her father spoke firmly, "you need to have something proper to eat." He looked with disapproval at the apple in her hand. "You won't be much good to the police department if you collapse with starvation after an hour."

"Okay," Nancy grudgingly agreed, sitting down beside her father and spooning some scrambled eggs onto her plate.

"Nancy," Carson Drew began hesitantly after a long pause, pushing his plate aside and turning to speak to his daughter.

"Yes," Nancy responded guardedly, instantly recognizing the serious note in her father's voice.

"I want you to be very careful on this case. You're with the Chicago P.D. for work experience and nothing else," her father reminded her. "This isn't one of your cases to investigate. The Chicago P.D. are handling it and you'll have to follow protocol.

"I know," Nancy assured him lightly. "You really don't have anything to worry about."

"I'm serious. If there's someone out there responsible for these abductions, he's a very dangerous person, who'll have no qualms about disposing of anyone who gets in his way."

"Okay, dad," Nancy answered resignedly. "I promise I'll be careful and I'll only do as I'm told, even if it means staying in the office all day, reorganizing the filing system."

"That's the spirit," her father said with relief, taking another sip of his coffee and glancing at the clock. "By the way, I'm flying to New York tonight for an early morning meeting, with an old client of mine. I probably won't be back until late tomorrow night."

"Okay," Nancy said, gathering up the plates and piling them in the sink. " So I'll see you some time tomorrow, and have a great time in New York." She blew him a kiss.

"Love you," her father said, smiling fondly at his daughter. "Just please try to remember what you promised."

------------------------

"Please say you have something good to tell me," the woman said pleadingly, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. A crumpled tissue pressed to her tear-stained face, Mrs. Gray looked expectantly between Detective Harris and Nancy, her eyes bloodshot and weary, her face imploring, hoping desperately for some news, any news on the whereabouts of her missing daughter.

"We don't have anything yet," Detective Harris answered ruefully, placing a comforting arm on the woman's slightly shaking shoulders. "But, I can tell you that we have a team of dedicated officers out there, searching for her as we speak."

"Okay," the trembling woman nodded slowly, her eyes glazed and disbelieving, her last glimmer of hope extinguished.

"I know this is very difficult for you," Detective Harris sympathized with the distraught woman, "but Nancy and I need to ask you a couple of more questions about Jenny."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Mrs. Gray nodded and slowly raised her eyes to meet those of the other women in the room.

"Has Jenny ever ran away from home before?" Detective Harris asked gently, sliding her glasses on.

"Never," Mrs. Gray answered emphatically. "She was always such a good girl growing up, we never had any trouble with her," the woman added, her voice taking on an almost wistful quality.

"Do you think that there's even a slight possibility that Jenny and Steve could have run away together?" Nancy asked hesitantly, reluctant to cause further distress to the woman.

"No, I don't," the woman answered with certainty, delicately dabbing her eyes with the ragged tissue. "It's her cousin's wedding tomorrow and there's no way she'd miss it, it's all she's talked about for the past few weeks."

Nancy's stomach clenched with sympathy as she stared at the distress on the older woman's face. Simply put, Jenny was her whole world. The simple cream walls of the sitting room were plastered with photographs of a smiling, happy Jenny, and the glass cabinet stood in a corner of the room was crammed with shining medals, jewel colored rosettes, and other mementos of a much cherished childhood.

"Was anything troubling Jenny?" Nancy proceeded delicately, refocusing her attention back on Mrs. Gray. "Did you notice a change in her sleeping patterns or in her appetite?"

"No, everything was fine," the woman replied, slowly shaking her head. "Anyway, Jenny would have told me if something was wrong, she always told me everything. Her father died three years ago and we've been extremely close ever since." Mrs. Gray trailed off. "Look, detectives, she's all I have left," the woman uttered despairingly, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You have to find her."

------------------

"That poor woman," Nancy sighed, as Detective Harris pulled away from the curb. "She's close to losing it. I don't know what she's going to do, if we don't find Jenny soon."

"I know," the detective agreed, shaking her head sadly.

"Do you think Jenny is still alive?" Nancy hesitantly asked the older woman, her tone subdued.

"I wish I knew," Detective Harris answered, her eyes deeply troubled. "But you don't work in the police force for over twenty years without knowing that there's a lot of wrong and evil in the world. At the end of the day, all we can do is keep searching and hope for the best," the detective finished soothingly, skillfully negotiating her car through the fast moving lanes of traffic.

"I guess," Nancy said doubtfully, resting in the comfy leather seat, preoccupied and troubled.

"You did well in there today, Nancy," the older woman said approvingly, smiling at Nancy.

"Thanks, Detective Harris," Nancy said, surprised and pleased by the praise.

"Oh, call me Jane, please."

"Okay, Jane," Nancy replied, smiling. "What are we doing next?"

"Right now, we're going to speak with Steve's parents, and then I need to brief the department on new developments in the case."

"Great," Nancy responded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"And to think, you were so worried yesterday because you thought there wouldn't be enough work for you to do," Detective Harris said, shaking her head, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

-------------------

The scraping of metal chair legs on the scarred wooden floor and the cacophony of buzzing, inquiring voices filled the cramped, stuffy room. A hush suddenly descended upon the group, as Detective Harris rose gracefully to address the police department, her clipped, professional tone demanding immediate attention.

"As we already know, Jenny Gray and her boyfriend Steve Conner went missing on Sunday, sometime between eleven a.m. and seven p.m.," the detective began, pinning the glossy photographs of the smiling teenagers onto the pitted surface of the cork notice board. "Family have confirmed that they planned to spend the afternoon on the southeastern shore of Lake Michigan," Detective Harris continued, marking the point on the map with a red pin, "and CSU has since recovered a bag, some clothes and a small sum of money from the scene.

"There has been no confirmed sighting of either teenager since," she finished gravely, turning her attention to a picture of a pretty, blue-eyed blonde tacked up beside the other two photographs. "This is Chloe Daniel, the sixteen-year-old junior who disappeared last night during the five minute walk between her friend's house and her home." She pushed in another red pin to indicate the location of the busy road running between her home and her friend's house.

"Again," Detective Harris repeated solemnly, "there has been no confirmed sighting of Chloe either, and it's also important to note that it's just a short ten minute drive between Chloe's house and the lakeside where we recovered the clothes and bag."

A murmur of heated, disjointed voices rippled through the room. "Isn't it possible these kids have just run away?" a tall, blocky police officer asked, prompting a fresh wave of exchange through the crowd.

"At this stage anything is possible," the detective agreed, peering at the officer over the frame of her glasses, "but preliminary interviews with family and friends have indicated that all three teens were happy, well-adjusted and unlikely to be runaways."

"Are you suggesting there's a possibility that the disappearances are connected?" a voice rose skeptically from the back.

"We can't rule out that possibility," Detective Harris confirmed.

"But the victimology is different," the voice argued fervently.

"That may be," the detective agreed, "but there are undeniably strong similarities between the two female victims. Both are Caucasian, both are in their late teens, and both have a similar body shape and height."

"But what about the boy?" a female voice joined in. "Where does he fit into all this?"

Attempting to respond to the barrage of questions flung at her, Detective Harris finally conceded defeat, and called for order in the vociferous room. "We need to keep our minds focused on recovering the missing teenagers," the woman stated firmly, her gray eyes keenly scanning the crowded room. "Officer Ward and Officer Carter, I need you to go to Lakeside High and interview Jenny's friends and teachers."

Nodding, the two men pushed back their chairs noisily and headed out of the room.

"Officer James and Officer Hogan," she said, addressing two burly men, "I want you to talk to Chloe's parents, see what else you can find out about the girl." Scribbling the address on a sheet of paper, she handed it to Officer Hogan and watched as the men retreated out of the room. "Officer Jennings," she said, looking at a young, handsome man, "I need you to crosscheck police files for possible suspects. We're looking for someone who has prior convictions in assaulting women, possibly for rape or even for murder."

As the dark-haired man filed out of the room, Detective Harris stepped down off the podium and spoke intently to the remaining police officers. "A profiler from the FBI is flying in later today, and he'll report his theory after reviewing the facts of the case," Detective Harris finished, walking purposefully through the rows of uniformed police officers. "At the moment though, it is imperative that we keep any suspicions we may have out of the media. The last thing we need right now, is panicked civilians swamping the department's phone lines."

-------------------

Late that night, Nancy lay stretched contentedly in Ned's arms, her head tucked securely under his chin, the curve of her body pulled close to his.

"I love you so much," Ned whispered into her ear, gently pushing her hair aside and kissing the soft skin on her neck. "I wish it could be like this all the time, that you'd never have to leave me."

Turning over onto her back, Nancy stared at Ned adoringly, running her fingers idly through his dark brown hair. "It would be great," Nancy agreed wistfully. "The last few weeks together have been perfect.

"I don't know what I'm going to do when we have to go back to college," Nancy added mournfully. "I'm going to miss you so much."

Cupping her face with his hands, Ned leaned in and gently kissed her. "Let's just enjoy the time the time we have left," he said softly, placing his hand against the warmth of her back, and pulling her closer to him.

"Definitely," Nancy agreed, smiling, her forehead resting against his, her hands twined around his neck. Eyes shut, Nancy and Ned leaned in closer, their lips meeting in a spine-tingling kiss.

"God, I love you so much, baby," Ned murmured tenderly, as Nancy stroked the sensitive skin at the small of his back, her face buried in his chest.

Though it was well past midnight, Nancy had lingered in Ned's arms, reluctant to leave. Dropping a feather-soft kiss onto his nose, Nancy finally untangled herself from his arms and rather unsuccessfully attempted to smooth her crumpled shirt.

"I'd better go," Nancy said through her yawn, pulling her shoes on. "I have an early start in the morning."

"Please don't leave," Ned begged, pulling her back down into his arms again. "Spend the night here with me."

"I can't," Nancy said regretfully, shaking her head. "I don't have anything to wear to work tomorrow and anyway, what if my Dad found out?"

"Nancy, he's in New York," Ned said gently, reasoning with her. "How would he ever know?"

"I guess," Nancy said doubtfully, "but I still have nothing to wear for the morning."

"We'll just set the alarm clock a little earlier," Ned shrugged, his lips resting lightly on her cheek.

"Okay," Nancy agreed with a smile, enjoying the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around her. "I'd love to spend the night with you, but only under one condition."

"Whatever you want," Ned said lovingly, stroking her hair and holding her even closer.

"That you'll keep your hands to yourself, Nickerson," Nancy said teasingly, "and you won't try anything in the middle of night."

"Deal," Ned agreed, taking her hand and leading her upstairs.

-----------------------

Twenty miles north of Chicago, Rachael Smith was out enjoying her early morning run. The fields were golden with sheaves of ripening corn and the early morning air was cool and refreshing. Rays of sun shone weakly from the sky, poking dimly through the blanket of dense cloud above. Sweat beading on her forehead, her lungs burning with exertion, Rachael stopped for a moment, impatiently thrusting a plastic bottle to her mouth. Gulping down the cold water, her senses were suddenly assaulted by the smell of decay emanating from an overgrown clump of bushes. Her curiosity piqued, Rachael waded through the tall grass, hesitantly pulling the thick, green foliage apart. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight in front of her.

Partially concealed under a shallow grave of leaves and earth lay the lifeless body of a young girl, her face splattered with blood, her eyes vacant and staring.


	3. Chapter 3

Slowly regaining consciousness, Ned gradually became aware of Nancy's soft, warm body shifting in his arms, her face buried in his chest, her fingers loosely tangled in his t-shirt. Glancing at his sleeping girlfriend, Ned felt a sudden rush of love. With her cheeks flushed a pale rose-pink and her face slack with exhaustion, Nancy looked so vulnerable and sweet. Drawing her closer, Ned tenderly brushed a lock of reddish-blonde hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead.

"Nancy, baby, it's almost seven o' clock," Ned gently whispered, resisting the urge to let her rest in his arms a few minutes longer.

Eyelashes fluttering slowly open, Nancy stared tiredly into Ned's brown eyes, smiling as he ran his fingers idly through her long silky hair. "I love you so much," Ned whispered tenderly, his lips pressed to her cheek. "You're so cute when you're asleep."

Smiling, Nancy twined her arms around his neck and gazed into his eyes. "I love you too and I'm glad I stayed the night," Nancy admitted shyly, a slight flush creeping over her face.

His thumb stroking her cheek, Ned looked at Nancy intently, then leaned in and kissed her passionately, his hand exploring the soft skin under her sheer top. Returning Ned's kiss insistently, Nancy pulled off his t-shirt, gasping with pleasure at the feel of his bare skin against hers. "Nan, that feels so good," Ned moaned, as she climbed up onto his lap, straddling his waist, her soft lips tracing kisses down his chest.

"You're so beautiful," Ned whispered as her tank top fell to the floor, her long hair swinging loosely against her bare back. Gently pulling back, Ned cupped Nancy's face in his hand, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of her bare, tanned body.

"I love you so much," he said softly, dropping a feather-light kiss on her nose.

"I love you too," Nancy whispered, resting her forehead against his and lovingly brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "You do know that, don't you?"

Nodding, Ned kissed her gently, then broke away softly, peering into her clear, blue eyes. "Nancy," Ned began cautiously, his hand resting on her face. "Do you want to have sex?"

"I do," Nancy admitted, smiling, resting her head on his shoulder. "But I'm not sure if we're ready."

"We love each other, Nancy," Ned said gently, tilting her face up to his, "and that's all that matters."

Nodding, Nancy curled her fingers around his and gazed into his eyes. "I just need a little time to think about it."

"Sure," Ned replied, smiling, lazily tracing his fingers over her smooth, bare skin. "Just don't take too long, okay? I don't think I could survive."

-----------------------

"Sorry I'm late," Nancy mumbled apologetically, flinging her bag into the chair. "The traffic was terrible."

"Don't worry about it. Nancy," Detective Harris said, waving her hand dismissively. "We've all had those mornings."

Smiling gratefully, Nancy poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and sat opposite Detective Harris at her paper-strewn desk. "Any news on the case?" Nancy asked eagerly, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Nothing definite," the detective answered, peering at Nancy over the frame of her glasses. "Red sneakers matching the description of the ones Chloe had on her, were found tossed in a trash can a block from her house."

"So she couldn't run away," Nancy concluded abruptly, her eyes widening at the horrific realization.

"Now, don't get too carried away," Detective Harris advised her gently, sifting through a bundle of files on her desk. "They may not be Chloe's sneakers at all. Forensics are carrying out tests on them as we speak."

"How long before you'll know?" Nancy inquired impatiently, quickly draining the last of her coffee.

"We should know something in the next hour or so," Detective Harris confirmed, sliding an angrily buzzing cell phone out of her pocket. "I need to take this," she said apologetically, glancing at the caller ID. She pushed back her chair and left Nancy with an empty coffee cup, fear churning in her stomach.

When she returned, the expression on her face was all Nancy needed. "Jenny Gray is dead," the detective confirmed sadly, pushing her phone deep into her pocket. "A jogger found her body in a ditch, about an hour ago."

"This is awful," Nancy said shaking her head, her eyes troubled and downcast. "Jenny was only a few months younger than me, she had her whole life ahead of her."

"It's a terrible waste," the woman agreed solemnly. "I need to get up there immediately. Detective Casey is already at the scene and I'm meeting forensics there in an hour."

"Would you mind if I came along?" Nancy asked hesitantly, pleading to the older woman with her gaze.

"I'm not sure it would be appropriate," Detective Harris answered doubtfully, shrugging her bag onto her shoulder. "Jenny was subjected to some horrific injuries before she died, and it's going to be ugly, even for us."

"I can handle it," Nancy assured the detective. "Please let me come, you won't even know I'm there."

"Okay," Detective Harris finally relented, her face softening into a smile. "You just don't give up, do you?"

-------------------------

Nancy followed Detective Harris closely as she wove her way through the throng of frowning, uniformed police officers, her feet sinking slightly into the boggy, marshy ground. Surrounded by a length of bright, yellow tape, Jenny's lifeless body lay sprawled in an overgrown mound of foliage, her bulging eyes staring unseeing at the bright blue sky. Her skin had acquired a waxy, bluish tone, her bloodied feet bare and dirty, and twigs and leaves were matted into her beautiful chestnut hair. Blood had gathered in a shining crimson pool around her head and hideous red slivers had seeped through the tiny white bikini that barely covered the body of dead girl. Repulsed, Nancy looked away, the cloying metallic smell of blood serving only to nauseate her further. Closing her eyes tightly, Nancy took a deep breath to steady her breathing and waited for the dizziness to pass.

"Are you feeling all right, Nancy?" Detective Harris asked worriedly, holding out a hand to steady her.

"I'm fine," Nancy said weakly, her stomach churning unpleasantly. "It's just there's so much blood. How can you stand to look at it?" she inquired shakily.

"Part of the job, I'm afraid," the detective replied with a casual shrug. "How are you feeling now?" she asked kindly, her gaze wandering to the team of forensics working on Jenny's body.

"Much better, thanks," Nancy lied, embarrassed. It wasn't like her to get so squeamish over blood, but then there was a hell of a lot of it, Nancy reminded herself darkly.

"Has a cause of death been determined?" Detective Harris questioned a police detective, who was furiously snapping photographs of the body from different angles.

He shook his head in response, his attention firmly focused on the task at hand. "The medical examiner is on her way," the man finally added after a distracted pause.

Looking over her shoulder, Nancy saw Detective Casey striding purposefully towards them. "Morning, Nancy," he said, with a curt nod. "Morning, Jane," he greeted his colleague, his eyes straying to the bloodied corpse. His eyes fixed on the blood pooled around her head. "God," he muttered. "They're saying she suffered blunt-force trauma to the head and was sliced up pretty bad with a serrated hunting knife. We'll know more when the medical examiner arrives," he finished, his tone matter-of-fact.

"What about the boy?" Detective Harris asked wearily.

"There's still no sign of him," Detective Casey told her, his face drawn and weary. "We have teams out searching, but he could be anywhere." He gestured meaningfully at the huge expanse of wooded area behind them.

-----------------------

Nancy wearily trudged into the sitting room and threw herself on the couch beside her father.

"Are you feeling all right, Nan?" her father asked, concerned, his keen blue eyes taking in her pale, greyish skin and the deep, dark circles etched under her eyes.

"I'm fine, Dad," Nancy assured him, smiling weakly. "I'm just really tired. It was a tough day and I didn't sleep very well last night." Kicking off her heels, Nancy tucked her long legs underneath her, resting her aching head against the cool leather of the couch.

"Yeah, that reminds me," her father said, looking at her suspiciously, "where were you last night? I tried to call but you weren't picking up."

"I was over at Ned's and we sort of lost track of time," Nancy said apologetically, flushing. "I'm sorry if you were worried."

"It's okay," her father said softly, "but you really should try to get to bed earlier. You look exhausted."

"I feel exhausted," Nancy said, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand and smiling at her father. "I can't wait to go to bed."

"I heard they found a body," Carson said curiously, folding his newspaper and looking at his daughter.

"That's where I've been all day," Nancy admitted guiltily, bracing herself for his inevitable disapproval.

"You've been at the crime scene?" her father echoed questioningly, surprise coloring his voice. "I thought we agreed that you'd stay away from this case."

"I know we did," Nancy said, biting her lip nervously, "but Detective Harris is assigned to the case, so I'm kind of involved, whether I want to be or not."

"Are you telling me that Detective Harris actually brought you with her to view a dead body?" Carson asked disbelievingly.

"Not exactly," Nancy admitted sheepishly. "I kind of asked to go."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this, Nancy," her father exclaimed angrily. "I specifically said I didn't want you to get involved in this case, it's too dangerous."

"Dad, if you'd seen the anguish on Mrs. Gray's face, you'd understand why I'm doing this," Nancy fervently explained, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

"I know what you're saying," Carson responded sympathetically, his anger cooling slightly. "It's just that I don't want anything to happen to you."

"It won't," Nancy said reassuringly, placing her hand on his. "I'll be fine."

"You know you can't promise me that, Nancy," her father said, shaking his head

"How about if I promise to stay away from the crime scene and focus my investigations in the office?" Nancy compromised.

"Okay," Carson hesitantly agreed, his voice strained and uneasy, "but you have to promise me you'll be extra careful. And mean it this time."

"I promise," Nancy said softly, giving her father a quick hug.

The tension between them passed slowly, while she drew him into a conversation about his trip. All the time, as they laughed at commercials and debated about what to have for dinner, Nancy was still in that field, seeing Jenny's bruised and battered body in her mind's eye.

"It really was awful, Dad," Nancy confided in Carson finally, a troubled look passing over her face. "There was so much blood and I can't stop thinking about how scared she must have been before she died."

Giving Nancy one last hug, Carson stood up, his eyes searching his daughter's face worriedly. "I'm going to heat up some lasagna," he said, his tone kept forcibly light. "If I know you, you haven't eaten a bite since breakfast yesterday."

"Thanks dad," Nancy murmured affectionately, smiling at her father. "You're the best."

-------------------------------

Lying tense and agitated under the thick darkness of the night, her mind vaguely focused on the gentle chirping of crickets drifting in through the open window, Nancy tucked the blanket securely under her chin and willed herself not to cry. Despite the plethora of vehement promises made to her father, Nancy knew in her heart that she couldn't give up the case. The sight of Jenny's body had upset Nancy more than she cared to admit and deep down, she knew her insistence to help capture Jenny's killer was at least partly motivated by the fact her own mother never got justice. Sara Drew had been brutally murdered when Nancy was barely three, her body casually dumped on open ground. Nancy knew her father was still haunted by his wife's death, and guilt pricked her at the thought of causing him further worry and distress.

Blinking back tears, Nancy grabbed the phone and quickly dialed Ned's number, feeling a sudden, urgent need to hear his calm, comforting voice.

"Hi Ned," Nancy managed, her voice shaking with relief when he finally answered the phone.

"Hi Nan," Ned replied worriedly. "Are you all right? You sound kind of upset."

"I'm okay, really," she reassured him, wiping away a few stray tears that coursed down her cheeks. "It's just that I really miss you." she added softly.

"I miss you too," Ned said tenderly, "and I wish you were here with me. Anyway, tell me what's wrong, Nan," he urged her soothingly. "You sound terrible."

"It's nothing, really," Nancy said, gradually regaining her composure. "It's just I had a kind of a fight with my dad and a tough day at work and anything really was going to set me off," she explained, a fresh wave of tears brimming in her eyes.

"I can come over right now if you want me to," Ned offered comfortingly, his tone loving and warm.

"Thanks Ned, but I feel much better now," Nancy replied, heartened by Ned's tender concern. "Thanks for being there, though. You're great."

"Anytime," Ned said softly. "Now get some sleep, babe. I love you."

"Love you too," Nancy whispered gently. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

A familiar charge of adrenalin surged through Nancy as she crossed the bustling police department, eagerly anticipating the day ahead. Ned's comforting words the night before and deep, restful sleep had lifted her spirits considerably.

"Steve's body was found last night," Detective Harris said somberly, seeing Nancy at the door. Usually immaculate, the woman wearing a stained, crumpled shirt and her ever perfect hair was gathered in a loose, bedraggled ponytail. "I was here all night," the detective explained with a wry smile. "I was just about to head home, when we got the call."

"Do you know how he was killed?" Nancy asked curiously, pulling a chair up beside Detective Harris.

"Well, he suffered major trauma to the head," the older woman said, wearily rubbing her tired eyes, "but apparently asphyxiation was the cause of death."

Nancy's eyes were drawn to the gristly photographs of Steve's body, pinned haphazardly behind Detective Harris's desk. Livid, blue-purple marks criss-crossed round his grotesquely swollen neck and a fine mist of blood lay sprayed across his cold, unblinking face.

"His body was found about a half a mile from where Jenny's was," Detective Harris continued matter-of-factly. "It seems he was hit on the head with a heavy, blunt object, possibly a large rock or a thick branch. The medical examiner will know more after she completes the post-mortem. He was strangled to death after the initial attack," the woman finished, re-arranging a pile of papers on her desk.

"So the killer didn't use the knife on Steve," Nancy said, surprised, remembering the series of viscous stab wounds inflicted on Jenny before her death.

"No, it is odd," Detective Harris mused, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. "Anyway, Agent Keane, the profiler from the F.B.I., will be meeting with us shortly, and he'll have a better idea about the kind of perpetrator we're dealing with."

"Any word on the sneakers?" Nancy questioned, suddenly remembering, her blue eyes sparkling with interest.

"They're definitely Chloe's," the detective confirmed sadly. "Traces of her blood were found on the fabric."

----------------------------

"Nancy, this is Agent Keane," Detective Harris said smoothly, introducing her to the F.B.I. profiler.

"Hello, Nancy," the man said, his tone pleasant and friendly. "You sure picked a hell of a time to do your interning."

Returning his firm handshake, Nancy smiled politely at the handsome agent. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, well built, and had a confident, self-assured air.

"It's clear he's targeting Caucasian girls in their mid to late teens," Agent Keane began in his deep, unwavering voice. "In the case of the couple, Jenny was his intended target. We can see by the extent of her injuries that the perpetrator spent a lot of time on her body, even after she was already dead. Steve, though, is another matter." He glanced significantly between Nancy and Detective Harris. "I don't think he realized Steve was there. He was killed quickly and there are no post-mortem injuries. When we find Chloe's body, it is likely she'll display similar, if not identical, injuries to those of Jenny Gray."

"What kind of person are we looking for?" Detective Harris asked gravely, scribbling a few notes on paper.

"You're most likely looking at a man in his late thirties to early forties. He will have poor social skills, few or no friends and probably lives alone. He seems to have serious issues with teenage girls, and the rage he has exerted on Jenny's body, suggests that he could have been bullied as a teenager, maybe even rejected by some girl he had a crush on. The point is that," the agent continued, his tone deathly serious, "he will have most certainly done this before and it is only a matter of time before he strikes again. The public needs to be warned of the dangers."

"I'll get right on it," the detective said shakily, clearly unnerved by the agent's cautionary words. "How much time do you think we have?"

"It's hard to say," Agent Keane said with a shrug. "But we know he's angry and desperate to kill. I give him forty-eight hours max before he chooses his next victim."

---------------------------

Nancy pored over the mountain of unsolved homicide cases, searching desperately for a clue, a lead, anything really, that would prevent another family going through the hell that was painfully evident on Mrs. Gray's face. Reluctant to intrude on the woman's heart-wrenching grief, Nancy opted to sift through the bundles of files and case notes, leaving Detective Harris the unenviable task of dealing with her.

"They won't let me see her," Mrs. Gray said woodenly, her eyes glazed and unfocused.

"Maybe it's best that you remember her as the beautiful, smiling girl she was," Detective Harris murmured soothingly, wrapping a comforting arm around the shaking woman.

"I need to know if she suffered," the woman said, finally giving voice to the question torturing her, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"She didn't." Detective Harris spoke softly, her eyes shining with compassion. "It was over very quickly."

"Thank you," Mrs. Gray responded brokenly, squeezing the detective's hand in gratitude, as if somehow realizing the violent, bloody death her daughter met but choosing instead to embrace the kinder edited version offered to her by Detective Harris.

"These are the personal effects taken from the body," the detective gently explained, handing the trembling woman a plastic bag of jewelry.

Mrs. Gray accepted it numbly, running her fingers over a delicate silver chain, when suddenly, something in her eyes flickered. "There was a silver heart pendant she always wore," the woman said worriedly, sifting through the plastic bag. "It had her name engraved on the back and an ornamental chain."

"Maybe she wasn't wearing it," Detective Harris suggested helpfully.

"No." The woman's voice was insistent. "She loved it. Her father gave it to her on her fifteenth birthday and she never took it off. She even wore it to bed," Mrs. Gray added with certainty.

"It could have come loose during the..." Detective Harris shrugged helplessly, unable to finish the sentence, her voice trailing away into silence.

During the struggle, Nancy silently finished, something hardening deep inside of her, when some sick person bashed your daughter's head in before slashing her to pieces and dumping her body on the side of the road like a piece of rubbish.

"We'll have someone check the crime scene," Nancy heard Detective Harris say kindly to Mrs. Gray. "I really am very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, it means a lot," she said, shrugging sadly and walking out of the office without a backwards glance.

----------------------

"Hi Nancy, how are you?" Bess asked excitedly, her cheerful voice bubbling over the phone.

"Fine," Nancy answered, swinging her tired legs onto her bed and smiling as her friend chirped happily about some guy she had met over the weekend.

"I feel like I haven't seen you for ages," Bess continued dramatically. "I have so much news."

"Bess, I saw you on Tuesday," Nancy said patiently, used to her friend's drama-queen exaggerations, "and today's only Thursday. That's only two days ago."

"I know, Nancy," her friend sniffed, "but I didn't really get to talk to you. My manager is being such a bitch. I was like five minutes late for work yesterday and she totally freaked out."

Nancy rolled her eyes knowingly, having played victim to Bess's non-existent timekeeping skills more times than she'd like to remember. "Yeah, she does sound horrible." Nancy agreed soothingly, knowing it was easier to appease Bess when she got into a mood like this.

"Anyway," Bess continued, her tone deceptively light and casual, "How's Ned doing in that big empty house all on his own?"

"Good," Nancy answered, a touch too casually.

"What do you mean by good?" Bess pressed her curiously.

"Good, as in I can't tell you when my dad is in the house, good." Nancy whispered, laughing.

"You can't keep me hanging like that," Bess said despairingly. "How about you come over tomorrow night and tell me everything? My parents have some random dinner party thing on so they won't be here. I can even cook us something," Bess offered temptingly.

"You cook?" Nancy asked incredulously.

"Okay," Bess admitted, laughing. "By cook, I obviously meant order take-out. I'll ask George over too."

"That sounds great, Bess, I'll see you then," Nancy gushed happily, bidding her friend a hurried farewell as she noticed her father standing hesitantly in the open doorway.

"Hi Dad," Nancy tentatively greeted her father, noticing the tense, anxious look clouding his face. "Is everything all right?"

"Not really," her father answered, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Okay," Nancy said uncertainly, panic-stricken by the sudden, unnerving thought that her father had somehow found out about the night she had spent with Ned. Heart racing, stomach churning, Nancy hesitantly sat down beside Carson.

"It's about your mother," her father began uneasily, his voice pained and barely audible.

"What about mom?" Nancy asked, visibly confused, her eyes pleading with her father to continue.

Taking a shaky breath, Carson took hold of Nancy's hand, and haltingly continued. "You were with your mother the day she was killed."

"What?" Nancy managed, shaking her head uncomprehendingly. "No, you're wrong," she uttered aghast. "I'd remember, I mean I would, wouldn't I?" Nancy asked her father in disbelief, her eyes pleading with him to help her understand.

"You were only three, Nancy," her father reminded her gently. "How could you possibly remember something that happened so long ago?"

"It's hardly like forgetting a vacation or a day at the beach," Nancy argued despairingly, her voice growing high and thin with distress. "She died that day and I was there. I saw the asshole who murdered her. How do I not know this?" she asked her father angrily, pulling her hand out of his grasp. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't tell you," her father said quietly, his blue eyes hesitantly meeting hers. "You were so small and you kept asking about where your mother was." Her father paused for a moment, his hands nervously twisting on his lap. "Also, there was a note." he added

"A note?" Nancy echoed in confusion, her slight frame trembling with shock.

"It said he was coming back for you." her father cautiously began, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I was terrified. There was a huge amount of publicity about the murder as it was and the police agreed to keep it quiet. I know, I should have told you about this before," her father said apologetically, tightening his arm around her, "but I just didn't know how."

"It's okay Dad, I understand," Nancy finally said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice. "It must have been really awful for you back then," she finished sympathetically.

"There's more, Nancy." her father said wearily.

"More?" Nancy questioned disbelievingly, pulling herself gently from her father's embrace, and looking up to face him.

"The morning Sara was killed, she and I had a huge fight," Carson said tiredly, his blue eyes carefully searching his daughter's for a reaction. "I wanted to have another baby, but she wanted to wait another year or so. She had just got back on track at work," he shrugged sadly, "and I suppose Sara wanted to establish herself again before she went back on maternity leave. Anyway, that morning things came to a head. Sara accused me of being selfish and insensitive for wanting her to have another child. I responded heatedly with some equally cutting remarks," her father said brokenly, resting his face in the palms of his hands. "She was so angry," Carson said, remembering. "She put you in your stroller and stormed out of the house, banging the door behind her. It was the last time I ever saw her alive." Carson's voice broke. "The next time I saw her was in the morgue. I still can't forgive myself," Carson finished, forcing his gaze up to meet his daughter's. "If we hadn't fought that morning, Sara would never have been in that park and she would still be alive today."

"Dad, it's not your fault," Nancy said soothingly, quickly wiping a hand across her damp cheeks. "You have to let this go. Mom loved you and wouldn't want you to feel like this."

"I know," Carson finally responded, squeezing his daughter's hand gratefully. "Look, Nancy, if I seem a little overprotective, it's only because I love you. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you," her father added thoughtfully, pulling her into a warm, loving hug.

----------------------------

Impatiently pulling down the heavy shutters, Melanie Clark cursed loudly as a jagged piece of metal cut a bloody chunk out of her arm. Kicking the wall in frustration, she reflected miserably on what really had been the crappiest day. Her head ached from the hordes of screaming babies and wailing toddlers who had run all over the shop, making her job absolute hell. To add to her woes, Stephanie, the new girl, had actually had the audacity to go home early, leaving Melanie in the lurch. Walking through the parking lot, Melanie chided herself for not having parked closer to the door. The parking lot was shrouded in darkness, save a faint, flickering glow from an old streetlight.

Hearing a vague, rustling noise, Melanie quickened her pace, not daring to look behind. At the sound of faint footsteps, her heart froze in her chest and she had no time to react before something hard came crashing down on her head, knocking her into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:

I want to say a huge thank you to ulstergirl who has given me lots of help writing the story and also to everyone who has reviewed so far.

* * *

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Nancy distractedly ate her cereal, barely tasting the bland wheat flakes as she flicked aimlessly through the television channels. Ever since Detective Harris had issued the press statement, warning people about the possible serial killer, outrageous headlines had blazoned from every television station and newspaper, breeding hysteria and panic among the public. The media, of course, was shamelessly exploiting the grief of the families, one tabloid even going as far as publishing some leaked photographs of the wretched bodies, bloodied and lifeless on the ground. Hearing her father's footsteps on the stairs, Nancy took a final spoonful of her cereal and placed the empty bowl on the table.

"Morning Nancy," her father hurriedly greeted her, placing his neatly packed overnight bag on the floor.

"I didn't realize you had to go away this week," Nancy murmured, surprised by the bag at his feet.

"Neither did I," Carson said, smiling ruefully. "Something urgent has come up with the McAndrew case and I need to get to Washington immediately. I'll probably be gone for two nights, maybe even three." He shrugged blankly. "It depends how things go."

"No problem, Dad," Nancy replied, smiling at her father. "I'll see you when you get back."

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Carson pressed her, concern on his face. "I hate to leave you, what with everything that's going on, and especially after our talk the other night."

"Dad, I'll be fine," Nancy protested. "I have Ned, and Bess and George, it's not like I'm going to be on my own."

"I suppose so," her father said doubtfully. "Anyway, I can come straight back if there's a problem, just call me," he added softly, picking up his bag.

"Okay," Nancy agreed, walking over to hug her father goodbye. "I love you, have a good trip."

"Love you too," her father said, dropping a kiss on her forehead and rushing out the door.

--------------------------

"We have another possible victim," Detective Harris said despondently, her eyes troubled. "A girl just called to report her roommate missing. She hasn't been seen since she left her job at the Westbury Mall late last night."

"Maybe she just stayed out with friends or family," Nancy suggested hopefully, uncrossing her long legs and raising her gaze to meet that of the detective.

"I don't think so," the detective replied worriedly. "She's nineteen and physically matches the description of the other missing girls. Anyway, I'm going to interview the roommate now, if you're interested."

"You know I am," Nancy replied, smiling. "Let me just grab my bag and I'm ready to go."

Half an hour later, Detective Harris and Nancy were permitted to enter the cramped, shabby apartment by a deathly pale girl in her early twenties, her eyes narrowed and distrustful.

"Now, you say you haven't seen her since yesterday morning," Detective Harris echoed questioningly once they were inside, peering at Rose Wilson over the rim of her glasses.

"No, I haven't," the young woman answered abruptly, sweeping a pile of damp laundry off the stained, worn couch and gesturing for Detective Harris and Nancy to sit down.

Gingerly obeying, Nancy cast her eyes over the unkempt, cluttered apartment. Dirty dished lay heaped in the sink, the floor was littered with discarded shoes and clothes, and every surface was covered with overflowing ashtrays and yellowing newspapers. "Is there a possibility she stayed out with friends or maybe a boyfriend?" Nancy asked, taking in the girl's lank, mousy-blonde hair and the bright pink leggings that clung unflatteringly to her skin.

"There's no boyfriend on the scene, as far as I know," Rose answered curtly, her cool blue eyes frankly appraising Nancy, "and she's not the friends type, if you know what I mean." Rose sat back, scraping back her greasy hair into a messy ponytail.

"So she doesn't have many close friends?" Detective Harris interjected, her gray eyes carefully searching Rose's sharp, pinched face.

"You can say that again," the girl said, rolling her eyes. "Melanie's kind of prickly. She's tough, you know." Rose shrugged meaningfully. "She had a pretty rough childhood. She generally doesn't like people and as a rule people don't usually like her."

Fumbling for her cigarettes, Rose slid one out of the packet and lit it, blowing rings of bluish-gray smoke into the air. "When I saw the news report I got worried," the woman confided, glancing between Nancy and Detective Harris. "I mean, we're not exactly the best of friends, but I wouldn't want anything to happen to her."

"You were right to call us," Detective Harris assured Rose, standing up and shaking her hand. "If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch."

----------------

Later that evening, Nancy lay sprawled in Ned's arms, her attention divided between the vaguely scary horror movie on television and Ned, who had been showering her with sweet, tender kisses since the movie began. Gently untangling herself from his warm embrace, Nancy moved onto her side, her face so close to his that they were almost touching.

"You're so great," she whispered softly. "Thanks for tonight, it really cheered me up."

"No problem," Ned answered gently, kissing her on the nose and wrapping a protective arm around her. "How do you feel about what your dad told you the other night?" he asked, concern glowing in his warm brown eyes.

"I don't really know." Nancy shrugged resignedly. "It's kind of weird. I just wish my dad had told me about it before," she admitted, resting her head comfortingly on his shoulder before her eyes brightened. "Anyway, on the plus side, my dad is gone for a few days, so I can spend lots and lots of time with you."

"Does that mean you're going to spend the night with me?" Ned asked hopefully.

"What do you think?" Nancy retorted mischievously, screaming as Ned suddenly lunged for her and started tickling her unmercifully, enjoying her shrieks of delight and the look of pure terror on her face. After, Nancy nestled deep into the comfort of Ned's arms, tucking her head securely under his chin.

"I love you so much," she said contentedly, enjoying the tightness of his arms around her as they settled down to watch the film again.

"I love you too," Ned whispered, gently squeezing her and dropping a kiss onto her forehead.

The movie proved to be slightly more unnerving than Nancy had anticipated. During a particularly upsetting scene, she buried her head deep into Ned's chest.

"Turn it off," she pleaded. "Please, Ned. This is so scary, there's no way I'll get any sleep for the next week if you leave it on."

"Suits me fine," Ned retorted jokingly, holding the remote teasingly out of Nancy's grasp.

"Ned, you're so mean," Nancy pouted, before Ned silenced her with a deep, lingering kiss.

"Who's so mean?" Ned whispered softly, his hands gently reaching under her shirt and moving up her back.

"Nobody," Nancy answered softly, gasping as Ned fumbled with the clasp of her bra. Reaching up, Nancy returned his kisses passionately, running her hand over the hard muscle of his chest and pulling off his t-shirt. Breathless with anticipation, Ned moved closer to Nancy, stray strands of her hair brushing against his bare skin. Gently pulling back, Ned tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and gazed lovingly into her eyes. "You mean so much to me. You know that, don't you?"

Smiling, Nancy nodded gently, her eyes locked with Ned's as she leaned in to kiss him gently again. Their kisses grew more heated as Ned pulled off her shirt, gasping as her bare beasts brushed against his newly sensitized skin. Pulling her closer to him, Ned trailed kisses on her bare chest, running his fingers through her long hair.

"I love you so much," Ned whispered into her ear, gasping as Nancy pulled herself onto his lap. "Do you want to do this?" he asked gently, his breath warm against her face.

"Yes," Nancy replied shakily, leaning in to kiss her boyfriend.

Gently pulling back, Ned tilted up Nancy's face and peered deeply into her eyes. "What made you change your mind?"

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Nancy leaned against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's just that I love you so much, and I don't want to waste any more time," she replied as she pushed her boyfriend down onto the couch, their mouths meeting in a deep, passionate kiss.

----------------------

"Hey, Nancy. Come over here."

At the sound of the familiar deep, throaty voice, Nancy looked up to see Agent Keane beckoning her to where he stood, stooped low over Chloe Daniel's body. The body of the girl had been stumbled upon earlier that morning by a group of unfortunate children who had wandered through the park on their way to school.

"Coming," Nancy answered, shivering, her arms wrapped tightly around her goose-pimpled flesh. The morning was damp and unusually cool, and the sun remained firmly shrouded behind a thick layer of cloud. Wading through the tall dew-soaked grass, crisscrossed haphazardly by the paths of numerous police officers, Nancy drew a sharp breath at the bloody sight in front of her. The girl's body lay spread-eagled on the damp grass, her white tracksuit torn and smeared crimson with blood. A deep stab wound to her neck had left her practically decapitated, hideously exposing bone and tissue. Quickly composing herself, Nancy walked over to where Agent Keane was crouched on the ground, his keen blue eyes intently examining the body.

"Morning, Nancy," Agent Keane greeted her politely. "Is Detective Harris on the scene yet?"

"Yes," Nancy confirmed, nodding. "She's on the phone with the medical examiner, she'll be over in a minute." Kneeling down beside the FBI agent, Nancy's eyes swept over the bloodied remains of the girl, her gaze finally resting on the series of vicious lacerations at her neck.

"God, he really did a number on her," Nancy said, cringing and averting her eyes from the grisly scene.

"Classic overkill," Agent Keane said matter-of-factly, as if he were accustomed to seeing practically decapitated girls every day of the week. "The killer is exhibiting a huge amount of rage," the man continued, his eyes frankly appraising the corpse of the girl. "His anger is intensifying. I understand you viewed the first body," Agent Keane said, addressing Nancy.

"Yes, I did," Nancy answered, her eyes meeting his curiously.

" I think you'd agree with me when I say the attacks have intensified in ferocity. Notice the lack of hesitation wounds and the depth and severity of the lacerations," he said, directing Nancy's attention back to the neck. Noticing her expression, he paused. "Does this bother you?" he asked, intently searching Nancy's face.

"It did," Nancy said, remembering her reaction to the grisly discovery of Jenny Gray's body. "I guess it still does, but I'm trying not to let it get to me."

"Good idea," he said, winking at Nancy. "It's not easy, but if this is the career path you intend to follow, you'll see this and a whole lot worse, believe me." He waited another beat before returning his attention to the crime scene.

"None of the victims have been sexually assaulted so far," he continued, standing up and circling the area around the body. "I'm willing to bet that when the medical examiner completes her postmortem, she'll find the same thing with Chloe. This killer is going to be very difficult to catch." Agent Keane shook his head. "So far he's left behind no bodily fluids, nothing at all really, that could lead us to him. He's smart and desperate to kill and that's a deadly combination."

"People are scared though, and taking more precautions," Nancy said thoughtfully, looking at the older man. "He's going to find it harder to capture his victims, and if he gets desperate he might make a mistake."

Agent Keane looked at her, smiling. "You're a bright kid, you know, and I hope you're right, because if my suspicions are correct, he's stalking his next victim right as we speak."

----------------------

Nancy's car crawled along at a snail's pace through the heavy rush-hour traffic. All around her, disgruntled drivers honked their horns in annoyance at the unexpected delay which had been exacerbated by an accompanying pile-up on the highway. Tapping her nails in annoyance on the dashboard, Nancy adjusted the dial of her radio, forcing herself to relax as a steady stream of music flooded the car. Keeping her eyes focused on the line of stationary cars ahead, Nancy rummaged in her bag for her ringing phone, her face brightening as she read the caller ID.

"Hi, Ned," Nancy answered, smiling into the phone.

"Hey babe," Ned greeted her softly. "Am I going to see you tonight?"

"Of course you are," Nancy assured him, her heart fluttering at the mere thought of being with him. "I just need to get a few things from home first."

"Okay, don't take too long. I can't wait to see you," Ned finished tenderly.

"I know," Nancy answered sweetly. "I love you so much."

After a few more minutes chatting while running the traffic gauntlet, Nancy snapped her cell phone shut, swung her car in front of the house, and hurried inside. Humming happily, Nancy took the steps two at a time, such was her impatience to be with Ned. As she crossed her bedroom, Nancy suddenly recoiled in horror.

Lying on her bed was the silver heart-shaped locket and chain Mrs. Gray had described, draped over a photograph of Nancy's own mother.


	6. Chapter 6

"Now Nancy, I need you to tell me exactly what happened," Detective Harris urged her in hushed, soothing tones.

"When I got home about twenty minutes ago," Nancy began hesitantly, her arms wrapped protectively around her shivering body, "I found that on my bed." She spat the words accusingly, pointing at the offending necklace lying across the photo of her mother.

As the detective's eyes rested on the silver pendant, her face visibly paled, the significance of the find slowly sinking in. "It's definitely Jenny's," Nancy confirmed darkly. "It matches the description given to us by Mrs. Gray and it even has her name engraved on the back."

Shock etched on her face, Detective Harris pored over the photograph, her keen eyes examining it carefully. "Do you know the woman in this photograph?" she inquired distractedly, her gloved hands carefully enclosing the items into a stiff paper bag.

"Yeah," Nancy answered softly, her eyes lowered forlornly to the ground. "That woman is my mother. She was murdered when I was three."

"God, I'm sorry, Nancy," the older woman murmured sympathetically. "That must have been tough."

"I don't really remember it," Nancy said, shrugging her shoulders sadly. "But of course, there were lots of times growing up, when I wished my mom was around."

Her face soft with compassion, Detective Harris cleared her throat before continuing. "To be honest Nancy, I'm extremely concerned about your safety right now. Is there anywhere else you can stay the night?"

"My boyfriend is on the way over," Nancy explained. "So I guess I'll stay the night with him."

"That's good." the detective said approvingly, flicking through the pages of her notebook. "I'll also need to speak with your father as part of our enquiries," she explained. "Have you any idea when he gets back?"

"Not for another few days at least," Nancy mumbled apologetically. "It really depends on how his case is going."

"Okay, well, I guess it can wait until he gets back," Detective Harris concluded, slipping her notepad back in her bag. "Now, I need to talk to you about something else," the detective began uneasily, her gray eyes fixed worriedly on Nancy.

"Oh," Nancy replied, unnerved by the serious tone in the detective's voice.

"It may not be the best thing for you to continue working with the Chicago PD," the woman suggested tentatively, cringing inwardly at the shocked look that crossed Nancy's face.

"Please let me stay on with you, Jane," Nancy pleaded desperately. "I'm really enjoying working with you and the rest of the team."

"Considering the circumstances, I don't think that it's possible," Detective Harris replied, shaking her head. "It'd be foolish for me to let you continue working on the case, when this psycho has you singled out, for God knows what."

"Look, detective," Nancy said firmly. "If this is the bastard who murdered my mother, then I think I have a responsibility to help bring him to justice. I need to do this, Jane." Nancy finished pleadingly, hot, angry tears stinging her eyes.

"I wish it were as easy as that, Nancy," the detective replied wearily, shooting a tired smile at Nancy. "But I will think about it, okay? That's all I can promise you at the moment."

Realizing that further discussion of the topic was closed off, Nancy reluctantly let the subject slide, the chime of the doorbell providing her with a much needed escape from the tense conversation.

"I'm so glad to see you," Nancy murmured happily, running into her boyfriend's open arms.

"What's going on, Nancy?" Ned asked worriedly, tightening his grip on her.

"I'll explain everything to you in a minute," Nancy promised, reaching up to kiss him gently on the lips.

"I'd better go, Nancy." Detective Harris called from behind her, acknowledging Ned with a warm smile. "I'm interviewing a former boyfriend of Melanie Clarke in an hour and the chief has left at least six messages on my voice mail."

"Thanks for everything, Jane," Nancy said gratefully. "You've been fantastic."

"Don't worry about it," the woman replied dismissively. "You have my number, don't you?"

Replying with a curt nod, Nancy moved forward to open the door for the detective.

"Don't dream of coming in tomorrow, okay?" the detective warned Nancy gently, rummaging noisily in her bag for her car keys.

"Okay," Nancy agreed grudgingly.

"Anyway, it looks as though you're in good hands," Detective Harris finished, winking teasingly at Nancy. "Now, I'd better head back to the station before the chief sends out a search party for me."

The retreating lights of the police car fading slowly into the distance, Ned wrapped a protective arm around Nancy, his face taut with worry. "Are you okay?" Ned asked worriedly, his gaze resting on Nancy's ashen face.

"I'm fine, Ned," Nancy replied wearily, resting her head on his shoulder. "I've just had a bit of a fright."

Gently taking her hand in his, Ned led Nancy over to the couch and pulled her down beside him. "Now, tell me everything," he urged her patiently, giving her hand a tender squeeze.

"When I arrived home..." Nancy began haltingly, her stomach clenching at the thought of the inevitable worry she would be inflicting on him, "Someone had put a necklace taken from Jenny Gray and a photograph of my mother on my bed."

"Who would play such a sick joke?" Ned demanded angrily, his handsome face darkening.

"It's wasn't a joke, Ned," Nancy responded quietly, her eyes fixed on the floor, unable to bring herself to read the expression in his eyes.

"What do you mean, Nancy?" Ned asked, clearly confused.

"The information about the necklace was never released to the media," Nancy explained hesitantly, nervously raising her eyes to meet those of her boyfriend.

"You mean the guy who killed all those girls was in your house," Ned exclaimed, horrified, a shocked expression passing across his face. Nodding slowly, Nancy allowed herself to be drawn into the comfort of his arms. "What am I going to do with you?" Ned scolded her gently, dropping a tender kiss onto her forehead. "You always seem to land yourself in trouble no matter what."

Relief surging through her at Ned's reaction, the tears that had been threatening to spill all night came coursing down her face. Holding her close, Ned stroked her hair soothingly, whispering comfortingly into her ear. He gave her one last squeeze before he walked into the kitchen, returning with a glass. "Here, take a drink of this," he said finally, handing her the glass of whiskey. "It'll help you relax."

Numbly, Nancy took a sip of the amber liquid, her hand trembling slightly. "You're just trying to get me drunk," she joked weakly, her eyes narrowing accusingly.

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Ned replied teasingly, leaning in to kiss her gently.

An hour later, Nancy lay snuggled in Ned's arms, her blue eyes blinking tiredly. A vaguely familiar television show blared reassuringly in the background, the central characters engaged in some ridiculous spat over who to take to prom.

"You've got to be more careful, Nancy," Ned whispered gently in her ear, his lips pressed tenderly to her skin. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

"Ned, I'm fine," Nancy said lightly, smiling weakly at him.

"You're hardly fine," Ned argued fiercely, brushing back her long reddish-blonde hair and peering intently at her weary face. "Some psycho was in your bedroom today," he reminded her testily. "What if you'd been home?"

"But I wasn't, Ned," Nancy said dismissively, edging in closer to him.

"You need to call your dad, Nancy," Ned continued, his tone serious. "He deserves to know what happened."

"I know." Nancy sighed wearily, dread welling up inside her at the prospect of explaining to her father exactly why some murderer was stalking his teenage daughter. "I just don't know how to tell him this over the phone," Nancy admitted helplessly to Ned. "He's going to freak out when he hears what happened and I don't want to worry him."

"He's not going to be happy," Ned admitted, agreeing with her. "But you can hardly blame him. Give him a call now and get it over with," he urged.

"I'll do it later," Nancy promised earnestly, gazing beseechingly at her boyfriend. "Look Ned, do you mind if we stop talking about this? I'm really tired and I might try and catch another hour or two of sleep," Nancy said, yawning, settling back into his arms and snuggling cozily beside him.

"Well, okay," Ned finally relented, pulling her close and stroking her hair soothingly until she drifted into a deep, troubled sleep.

-----------

Nancy absentmindedly twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she watched the news. She was due to meet with Bess for a shopping trip in an hour, but was hoping to catch an update on the case first. Startled by the sudden ringing of her phone, Nancy swiped it from the table, a frown crossing her face as she read the caller ID.

"Hello, Nancy," the detective greeted her warmly. "I hope you've recovered from your shock yesterday."

"I feel much better, thanks," Nancy replied politely, before hesitantly asking, "Did you think any more about letting me stay on at the Chicago PD?"

"That's actually why I'm calling, Nancy," Detective Harris admitted. "I've spoken to both Agent Keane and the chief and they've agreed to let you complete your work experience here."

"Really?" Nancy asked, shocked, certain that any chance she had of staying on the case was long gone after the events of the previous night.

"Really," the detective confirmed. "Agent Keane in particular is very impressed by you, he spoke in glowing terms to the chief about you."

"That's great," Nancy said, flushing happily at the unexpected praise. "When can I start?"

"Tomorrow if you want, but there will be a few ground rules, Nancy," the detective warned her. "From now on, you'll have to work from the station. That means no more trips to the crime scenes," she finished firmly. "Is that understood?"

"Totally," Nancy agreed, so relieved at the detective's decision that she couldn't really find it in her to complain. "Thanks for this, Jane," Nancy said gratefully. "I'll see you in the morning."

-------------

Gingerly taking small sips from her styrofoam cup of steaming coffee, Nancy trailed behind Bess as she weaved determinedly through the crowds of busy shoppers, clogging up the ever-busy mall. Whatever enthusiasm Bess may have lacked on a playing field or in a gym, she certainly more than made up for it on a shopping trip. A whirlwind of energy, she flitted from store to store, trawling through racks of dresses and skirts, her enthusiasm never dwindling. Pressing a vivid blue dress against her body, Bess regarded herself in the mirror with a triumphant smile.

"This would be perfect for my date tomorrow night," Bess sighed happily, twirling around to show the blue shimmery dress off to its full advantage. "What do you think, Nan?"

"It's gorgeous," Nancy agreed, reaching out to run her fingers over the delicate material. "You should get it. That shade of blue always looks amazing on you."

"Yeah, you know what? I think I will," Bess answered decisively, sliding a wad of bills out of her purse. "A girl's got to treat herself every now and again," she rationalized with a smile, wandering over to the register and purchasing the dress.

"It sounds like things are going well with Chris," Nancy commented suggestively as they left the store, Bess's oversized shopping bag swinging from her arm.

"Chris who?" Bess replied airily, shrugging her shoulders dramatically. "That guy is so yesterday. I've met a new guy, Dave, and he's really cute," she squealed excitedly, pulling Nancy into a cosmetics shop, stacked high with lotions, creams and lipsticks of every shape and description. "Oh my god, I've just had the best idea," Bess said suddenly, reaching out to grab Nancy's hand. "You and Ned should double date with us. It would be so much fun."

"We'll see, Bess," Nancy replied uncertainly, unwilling to inflict Bess's latest crush on poor Ned.

"Speaking of Ned," Bess asked curiously, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes, "did anything happen since I last spoke to you?"

"Kind of," Nancy answered evasively, a telling flush creeping across her face.

"You slept with him, didn't you?" Bess demanded in a shocked voice.

"It's private, Bess," Nancy insisted, attempting to distract her friend by dragging her over to a stall of brightly colored nail polishes.

"Nancy, we're best friends," Bess said solemnly, her head bobbing up and down meaningfully. "And it's your duty as my best friend to divulge all the gory details. Anyway," she added casually, innocently batting her eyelashes. "I've known Ned for years and I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"You're impossible, Bess," Nancy laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly and swatting her friend away. "Look, we had a lovely night and I'll leave it at that, okay?" she finished, smiling at her friend and draining the end of her coffee.

--------------------

"You look beautiful, Nan," Ned said appreciatively, his eyes sweeping over her clingy black dress.

"Oh, this old thing," Nancy replied jokingly, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Well, I'm glad you like it, Nickerson." she added in a softer voice, delicately taking a sip of her drink. Eager to distract Nancy from the events of the previous days, Ned had offered to take her out for an early dinner. The popular Italian restaurant was slowly filling up. Couples sat huddled around the intimate, candlelit tables, their faces bathed in the flickering light of the candles as they engaged in hushed, private conversations. "This was such a good idea Ned," Nancy gushed happily. "It's been ages since we've gone to dinner together."

"That because I like having you all to myself," Ned retorted teasingly, a smile spreading slowly across his face. "Are you going to stay with me tonight?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course I am," Nancy said, her eyes shining with happiness. "Dad's due home tomorrow and it will probably be a little harder to get away."

"Don't say that," Ned grumbled good-naturedly. "I've got so used to having you around all the time.

"Don't worry, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," Nancy said jokingly. "I'll even slide down the drainpipe if I have to."

"That's good to know, Drew," Ned said softly, reaching over and taking her hand gently in his. "I've had a great night, and I've a feeling it's going to get a whole lot better," he whispered affectionately, gently brushing his lips over hers. Completely engrossed in his touch, Nancy barely heard the discreet ringtone of her phone, buzzing angrily from her evening bag.

"Your phone," Ned managed, reluctantly pulling away from his girlfriend. Flashing an apologetic smile at Ned, Nancy slid the phone out of her bag and swept noiselessly out of the crowded restaurant.

Instantly recognizing the phone number, Nancy greeted the detective uneasily. "Hi, Jane. Is everything all right?"

"We've just got our first big break in the case," the detective replied excitedly. "The killer attempted to abduct another teenage girl tonight, but this time she got away. We're bringing her down to the station right now, if you're interested."

"I'll be right there," Nancy promised, the familiar thrill of excitement coursing through her veins as she snapped her cell phone shut.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ned, I've got to go," Nancy apologized, guilt pricking at her at the disappointment on his face. "They've just had a massive breakthrough on the case and I need to get down to the station."

"You're going back in to work?" Ned muttered in disbelief, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Have you forgotten all about our night together?"

"I haven't forgotten about it," Nancy assured him. "I'm just postponing it. I'll come over to you right after, I promise," she said, her blue eyes pleading with him to understand.

"What's so important anyway, that it can't wait until the morning?" Ned grumbled, the subtle softening of his brown eyes convincing Nancy that she was almost forgiven.

"Another girl almost got kidnapped, but this one managed to escape. Detective Harris is bringing her in right now to be interviewed and I really want to be there. I'll make it up to you later," Nancy promised Ned eagerly, leaning in to kiss him gently on the lips.

"I'll hold you to that," Ned whispered roughly, pulling her close for a final hug. "I love you, Nan. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Love you too," Nancy smiled, blowing him a kiss goodbye and hurrying out of the restaurant.

----------------------

A chorus of wolf-whistles sounded as Nancy crossed the busy police department, scantily attired in her short black dress. "Hot date, Drew?" Officer Maloney called out as he spotted Nancy entering Detective Harris's office.

"Very funny, Jack," Nancy scowled, jokingly. "I was out for dinner and I didn't have enough time to go home and change," she explained, red-faced, self-consciously tugging down the short skirt of her dress.

"Don't mind them, Nancy," Detective Harris said kindly. "It's not too often they see a pretty girl in here and when they do, they don't know how to behave themselves." Dismissing their cries of protest with a sly wink at Nancy, the detective turned to brief the group on Vickie Mason, the high school senior who had only narrowly avoided being the killer's latest victim earlier that evening.

"Vickie was very fortunate her boyfriend heard her screams. If he'd come out a few minutes later, who knows?" the detective concluded, shrugging her shoulders meaningfully. "She's in room one right now with her boyfriend and she's pretty shaken up," Detective Harris informed the police officers. "I'm going to interview them to begin with and afterwards I'd appreciate it if Officer Maloney could take their statements." Dismissing the police officers with a curt nod, Detective Harris turned to Nancy. "I need you to be with me in the interview room when I'm talking to Vickie and Josh," the detective said. "Detective Casey is still speaking to possible eyewitnesses at the diner and I need to talk to Vickie while the event is still fresh in her mind."

"No problem," Nancy assured the detective happily as she followed her into the stark gray-green room.

Pretty, blonde Vickie and her handsome football-player boyfriend would certainly make for excellent tabloid fodder, Nancy thought darkly as she eyed the couple carefully over the scarred wooden table. Deathly pale even under her deep golden tan, Vickie hesitantly answered Detective Harris's questions.

"I was outside the diner, on the phone, when all of a sudden someone put his hand over my mouth," the girl recalled, shuddering, tears filling her big blue eyes. "It was awful, I couldn't really breathe," Vickie finished shakily, wiping the tears from her face.

"You're doing very well, Vickie," Detective Harris said encouragingly. "Now tell us what happened next."

"He grabbed me hard and pulled me back against him," Vickie continued tearfully. "I kicked him and tried to scream, but he told me that he'd shoot me if I made another sound." Suddenly realizing how close she'd come to being the killer's latest victim, Vickie dissolved into floods of tears, resting her head on her boyfriend's shoulder for comfort.

Giving the distressed girl a chance to compose herself, Detective Harris turned her attention to Josh, Vickie's boyfriend, who was desperately trying to console his girlfriend, running his hand soothingly up and down her back. "Could you tell me what happened then, Josh?" the detective asked intently, peering at him over the rim of her glasses.

"I heard Vickie scream, so I ran out to see what was wrong," the boy hurriedly explained. "Some man had his arm around her neck," Josh continued, his head shaking in disbelief. "When he saw me, he just shoved her to the ground and ran away. I chased after him, but it was dark and he was too fast," he finished, shrugging apologetically.

"You were better off letting him go," Detective Harris assured him kindly. "God only knows what he would have done if you had managed to catch up with him."

Casting a sympathetic look at Vickie, the detective addressed her gently. "Do you feel ready to answer a few more questions?"

Nodding, the girl dried her tearstained face and looked expectantly at the older woman.

"Do you think you could describe your attacker?" Detective Harris asked her gently.

"Not really," the girl replied, shrugging ruefully. "It was dark and it all happened so fast..." she finished, her voice trailing away.

"Do you think you could remember his height?" Nancy interjected firmly, determined to glean as much information as possible from Vickie.

"I'm not sure," the girl admitted resignedly. "He was taller than me, that's about all I know."

"Was he taller than Josh?" Nancy persisted, gesturing at the boy to stand up.

"I don't know, he might have been," the girl answered uncertainly, running her eyes up and down her boyfriend's sturdy frame. "It was very dark."

"Was there anything distinctive about the man?" Nancy pressed. "Maybe a scar or a tattoo?"

"I really don't know," Vickie said insistently. "I can't remember anything."

Stifling a groan of frustration, Nancy pushed her chair out noisily from the table and stood up. "Come on Vickie, you must remember something," Nancy said, a little more forcefully than she'd intended.

"May I speak to you outside for a minute, Nancy?" Detective Harris demanded firmly.

"She's the victim here, Nancy," the older woman reminded her, once they were safely out of earshot.

"I know, Jane, but it's just so frustrating," Nancy moaned despairingly. "This girl could be our only chance of catching this guy and she can't even tell us how tall he is."

"You're right, it is frustrating," the detective agreed. "But it's not really surprising she's having trouble recalling certain details. She's practically in shock."

Pushing through the heavy doors, Nancy and Detective Harris resumed their places in the bare, clinical interview room. "You've been a great help, Vickie," Detective Harris praised the exhausted girl.

"Really?" the girl sniffed doubtfully.

"Really," the detective confirmed kindly. "Before I get Officer Maloney to take your statement, are you sure there's nothing else you can remember?"

"There was one thing," Vickie said thoughtfully, fidgeting nervously with her ring. "He had the strangest eyes."

"Strange as in how?" Detective Harris probed excitedly, exchanging a triumphant glance with Nancy.

"His eyes were the most unusual color," the girl answered, the sudden memory of it sparking in her eyes. "The were the palest shade of blue, almost colorless and he also had a small, raised scar on the left-hand side of his face."

"Good girl, Vickie," the detective said encouragingly. "Is there anything else that you remember? Even if you think it's not important, tell us. It's often the small, seemingly insignificant details that can catch a killer."

"No," Vickie sighed, crestfallen. "That's all I can remember. I'm really sorry I can't be of any more help."

-------------------------

It was long past midnight when Nancy finally crept into Ned's bedroom, her body numb with exhaustion and her eyes drooping with the accumulation of far too many sleepless nights. A rush of affection flooded Nancy as she took in the sleeping form of her boyfriend, sprawled carelessly across the bed, his dark hair flopping endearingly across his face. Silently slipping into the welcoming warmth of the blankets, Nancy curled close to Ned, resting her head comfortingly against his shoulder. "Love you," she whispered tiredly, pressing her lips against his skin before drifting into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

"You came," Ned said drowsily, a smile spreading across his face as he pulled Nancy into his arms.

"I did, but a certain person was sound asleep," Nancy accused him jokingly, reaching up to kiss him gently on the lips.

"Well I'm certainly not asleep now," Ned retorted playfully, blinking the last of the sleep from his eyes. "And just for that, I'm going to do this," he said menacingly, pouncing on top of her and tickling her unmercifully.

"Ned, stop," Nancy protested, laughing and struggling free from his grasp so she could hop off the bed.

"Get back here, Nancy," Ned demanded jokingly, chasing after her and flinging her over his shoulders. "You didn't really think you'd escape, did you?" he teased her, throwing her down roughly on the bed.

"You're cruel, Ned," Nancy whined, pouting, her face flushed with the unexpected exertion.

"I try, babe," Ned retorted cheekily, flashing his girlfriend a mischievous smile. "That's just a little payback for leaving me in the lurch last night."

"You're not still mad, are you Ned?" Nancy asked, a stricken look crossing her face.

"Nah," he replied, smiling, "I just wanted to see the look on your face."

"You're positively evil, Ned Nickerson," Nancy accused him jokingly, whacking him lightly with a pillow.

"You know you love me," Ned said smiling, wrestling Nancy onto her back and peering lovingly into her eyes.

"I suppose I do," Nancy admitted grudgingly, a smile spreading slowly across her face.

Kissing Nancy gently, Ned moved onto his back, their faces inches apart, their hands loosely clasped. "I love you, Nan," Ned whispered, tracing a finger tenderly down her face.

"I love you too, Ned," Nancy murmured contentedly, edging closer into the inviting warmth of his arms.

"Do you want to pick up where we left off yesterday?" Ned whispered breathlessly, tightening his grip around her shoulders and dotting kisses up and down her neck.

"Definitely," Nancy sighed happily, shivering in anticipation as Ned ran his hand delicately up her thigh.

----------------------------

"I love you so much, Nan," Ned said tenderly, enfolding her in his arms and kissing her gently on the lips. "See you later, okay?"

Already ridiculously late for work, Nancy reluctantly untangled herself from Ned's delicious hug, whispered a tender farewell and tore up the road for home, all the while praying silently that she wouldn't be pulled over for speeding or worse still, for dangerous driving. As her car crunched up the winding gravel driveway, Nancy's heart plummeted upon spotting the familiar black car parked in its usual spot against the wall. Dread welling up inside of her, a thousand ludicrous excuses flitting through her mind, Nancy nervously approached the front door, anxiously fidgeting with a ring on her finger.

"Hi Dad," Nancy called out a little apprehensively as she gingerly peered around the kitchen door. "How did your case go?"

"Nancy, thank God you're all right," he father exclaimed with obvious relief, rushing over to give her a hug. "I've been worried sick about you. I received a very distressing phone call from a Detective Casey last night," her father said pointedly, anger creeping into his voice. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Dad, I wanted to tell you," Nancy said in a small voice, her face flushing guiltily. "Really, I did."

Shaking his head angrily, Carson motioned at her to keep quiet. "I called and called the house and your cell phone repeatedly but you weren't picking up."

"I can explain, Dad," Nancy argued feebly.

"No, Nancy. I don't think you can," her father retorted furiously. "Have you any idea how worried I've been?" Not giving his daughter a chance to respond, Carson launched into an angry tirade, his face white with fury. "When I couldn't get hold of you on the phone, I began to think that something terrible had happened to you. I caught the next flight home, all manner of visions floating through my head, and you can just imagine how I felt when I arrived home to find out you weren't even here. Where the hell were you, Nancy?"

"I was with Ned," Nancy admitted, red-faced, nervously twirling a strand of red-blonde hair around her finger.

"I don't know what's got into you lately, Nancy," her father snorted disapprovingly. "You promised me you'd stay away from this case and you haven't, and now I find out you're staying over at Ned's. I feel like I can't trust you anymore," he finished wearily.

"You can trust me, Dad," Nancy pleaded desperately, tears stinging her eyes.

"No, I can't, Nancy," her father said, shrugging helplessly. "From now on, consider yourself officially off this case. I'm going to arrange for you to finish your internship somewhere else."

"You can't do this, Dad," Nancy argued tearfully. "I need to stay on this case."

"What's this really about, Nancy?" her father asked her in a more reasonable tone, his anger cooling slightly. "Are you still upset that I didn't tell you about your mother?"

"This is not about you," Nancy said firmly, blinking back the hot, angry tears that were threatening to spill at any moment. "I'm only doing what I think is right. Why can't you understand that?" Her vision blurred with tears, Nancy stormed out the door, not looking behind her once.

In the privacy of her car, Nancy finally broke down, deep heart-wrenching sobs racking her body. Her hand shaking violently, Nancy dialed Ned's number, a fresh wave of tears coursing down her cheeks at hearing the concern in his warm, loving voice.

"Hi, Nan. What's wrong, babe?" Ned demanded worriedly, her distress immediately obvious over the line.

"It's my Dad," Nancy managed tearfully. "He was there when I got home this morning and he was really mad. He knows the killer was in the house and he's really pissed off I stayed with you last night."

"He knows you stayed over?" Ned echoed in shock.

"Yeah," Nancy confirmed shakily. "God, we just had the worst fight, Ned. I don't think I've ever see him so angry."

"Call him, Nancy. You need to talk to him," Ned advised her soothingly.

"I can't," Nancy replied wearily. "I'm just not ready to face him yet. Is it okay if I stay with you tonight?"

"You know it is," Ned reassured her warmly. "But I still think you should try and talk to him."

"I'll think about it," Nancy replied doubtfully. "But I wouldn't hold my breath. Now I really need to get to work, I'm late enough as it is."

"You're actually going to go in?" Ned asked in surprise. "Are you sure you're feeling up to it?"

"I'll be fine," Nancy assured him tiredly, warmed by his concern for her. "Thanks for caring, though. I love you."

"Love you too, Nan," Ned said tenderly. "Take care of yourself, okay? I hate you being so upset."

Swinging her car into a vacant lot, Nancy glanced self-consciously at her swollen, reddened eyes in the rearview mirror. Carefully reapplying her mascara and dusting a light layer of bronzer over her cheeks and nose, Nancy put a wide fake smile on her face before pushing through the heavy doors of the police department.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Jane," Nancy mumbled apologetically. "My dad came home this morning and well, you know..." she shrugged wearily, her voice trailing away.

"Yeah, I gather he didn't take the news very well," Detective Harris said, wincing sympathetically. "I was talking to Detective Casey and he filled me in. How bad was it?"

"Bad." Nancy sighed gloomily. "We had a massive fight and now I don't think we're even talking."

"It'll blow over, Nancy. Really," the detective said kindly, trying to cheer her up.

"Jane," Nancy began hesitantly, fidgeting distractedly with her ring, "Can I ask you a huge favor?"

"Okay," the detective answered uncertainly.

"I want to look at my mother's file," Nancy said pleadingly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Please, Jane. I need to."

"You do realize we are considering the possibility of a connection between your mother's murder and the deaths of these other teenagers," Detective Harris said cautiously, her eyes searching Nancy's face for a reaction.

"I know," Nancy confirmed quietly, her blue eyes meeting Jane's hopefully. "Do you think I could?"

"It's not simply a matter of me allowing you to look through the file," Jane explained gently, an uneasy expression crossing her face. "You must be very sure you can handle it, Nancy. There will be some very disturbing details on those police reports."

"I realize that," Nancy said resignedly. "And I can handle it. Really," she added with certainty.

"So long as you're sure," Detective Harris said, relenting uneasily after a long, uncomfortable pause.

A jumble of emotions swept through Nancy as she sifted through the pile of old police reports, the pages faded and slightly yellowed with age. It felt almost surreal to Nancy that the single most devastating event in her life could be reduced to a few brittle police reports enclosed in a dusty cardboard box. Her hand trembling, Nancy picked up the police report dated the day of Sara's murder and forced herself to scan through the horrific details, words like "blood" and "stab wound" jumping out at her and making her feel physically sick. Taking a deep, calming breath, Nancy forced herself to delve deeper into the cardboard box, tears filling her eyes as she retrieved a photograph of her mother. Seeing Sara's pretty face and sweet, gentle smile made Nancy ache inside. Jane was right, Nancy thought shakily, I can't deal with this.

Drying her eyes, Nancy carefully gathered the contents of her mother's file, replacing them neatly in the box, when she spotted a ragged sheet of paper lying undisturbed at the bottom. Her curiosity piqued, Nancy picked up the single sheet of paper, paling when she realized it was the threatening note sent to the police station. With a sick fascination, Nancy traced her fingers over the note, realizing that the man who had formed these slanted, untidy letters was the same psycho who had murdered her mother and possibly all those other girls.

Hearing a gentle knock on the door, Nancy replaced the note in the box and swiped hurriedly at the few tears that lingered on her cheeks.

"Nancy, may I come in?" the detective inquired politely, peeking her head delicately around the door.

"Of course you can," Nancy said reassuringly. "I'm finished looking through the file anyway."

"How are you holding up, Nancy?" the detective asked her gently, quietly observing Nancy's puffy, swollen eyes and reddened face.

"Fine, I guess," Nancy answered, shrugging. "Although it was strange to be looking through my mother's file."

"I'm sure it was," Jane murmured, nodding sympathetically. "Nancy," Jane began delicately, "This arrived in the post this morning." She held out a single sheet of white paper, a message scrawled untidily across it. The words on the sheet became a blur, a single unintelligible block of letters, as Nancy recognized their familiar slant.

The writing on the sheet was identical to the writing on the note sent by her mother's killer, all those years ago.


	8. Chapter 8

Paralyzed with shock, Nancy stood motionless, the scrawled note clasped loosely in her hand. "I don't believe it," she finally managed to choke out.

"Are you okay, Nancy?" Detective Harris asked worriedly, placing a supportive arm on her shoulder.

"Not really," she replied, frantically sifting through her mother's file and pulling out the ragged threatening note that had been sent by her mother's killer all those years ago. "I found this when I was searching through the file earlier," Nancy explained, a troubled expression on her face as she passed the frayed sheet of paper to the detective.

Her eyes widening in horror, Detective Harris stared dumbfounded at the familiar slanting letters. "It's him," she muttered in shock, her voice trailing away as Agent Keane strode purposefully into the room.

"I just heard our killer sent a note," he exclaimed breathlessly, making his way over to the scarred wooden table where Detective Harris and Nancy were gathered anxiously around the small piece of paper.

"It just arrived a few minutes ago," Detective Harris confirmed gravely, composing herself quickly before passing the single sheet of paper to the FBI agent.

"Okay, what have we got here?" Agent Keane mumbled softly to himself, sliding his glasses onto his nose and carefully examining the note. "Melanie is still alive, detectives," he read slowly and deliberately, his eyes narrowing in frustration at the goading tone of the note. "Unfortunately, she's a little lonely so I've now taken the liberty of choosing a new girl to keep her company. The clock is ticking, detectives," Agent Keane finished in a sing-song voice, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he replaced the note on the desk.

"God, that's so creepy," Nancy shuddered, nervously eyeing the piece of paper. "Do you think he means it?"

"I have no doubt he does, Nancy," Detective Harris responded wearily, running a hand over her face. "This is just getting worse and worse. I know you have a lot of experience dealing with this type of a perpetrator," the detective muttered anxiously, turning to Agent Keane. "What do you think?"

"The tone of the note is mocking," Agent Keane began, a grim look crossing his face as he scanned the piece of paper. "He's deliberately taunting us, demanding our attention, and he seems extremely confident that he won't be caught. It's just like when he left Jenny Gray's locket in Nancy's house as some sort of sick clue. He's desperate for our attention and recognition. It's all part of this twisted little game he's so eager to play with us."

"Do you really believe Melanie is still alive?" Nancy asked hopefully, her blue eyes gazing anxiously at Agent Keane. "Or do you think it's just another lie?"

"No, I believe him when he says Melanie is still alive," the FBI agent replied, frowning. "But the real question is, for how long?"

"What about the other girl he mentioned in the note?" Detective Harris interjected worriedly. "I mean, she could literally be any teenage girl in the whole of Chicago."

"Alert the media," Agent Keane said, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "Tell them to continue reminding the public of the threat this perpetrator poses to teenage girls."

"Okay," Detective Harris said, nodding in agreement. "Anything else you'd advise me to do?"

"For now, I think it's best that we keep the information about the note out of the media. You know what they're like, Jane," Agent Keane said, rolling his eyes knowingly. "They get wind of this and it'll be splashed all over every newspaper and television station in Chicago before the day is out."

"There's something else, Keith," Detective Harris said anxiously, raising her eyes to meet his. "Nancy was looking through her mother's file earlier, when she found this." The detective held out the older note for the agent to examine.

"Sweet God," he uttered in shock, his face visibly paling as the significance of the piece of paper slowly sank in. "It's the same son of a bitch." Regaining his composure, Agent Keane slowly shook his head. "We need to send them to the lab to be dusted for fingerprints and examined by a handwriting expert. Although seeing them here in front of me, I don't think there can be any doubt that they were written by the same person."

"But my mother was murdered fifteen years ago," Nancy said, shaking her head in disbelief. "What are the chances of the same killer striking again after all this time?"

"While it's unusual for a killer to reappear after all these years, it's certainly not unheard of," he replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "For all we know, the killer could have been living elsewhere, undetected for years, and has just recently moved back. Or recently released from jail."

"We'll have to call your father, Nancy," Detective Harris informed her gently, pulling Nancy from her troublesome thoughts. "But I suppose we'd better wait until we get the results from the lab."

Pushing down her dread at the prospect of speaking to her father, Nancy flashed a shaky smile at the Detective Harris. "He's at the office, I think," she offered uncertainly. "You know, Jane, my Dad is not going to take this news very well," Nancy finished, shrugging her shoulders softly.

"That's understandable, Nancy," the detective responded gently. "This development in the case has been a huge shock to all of us and I can only imagine how hard it's going to be on you and your father. You know you can talk to me whenever you want," she offered with a smile, giving Nancy's hand a comforting squeeze before turning her attention to Detective Casey, who had just pushed his way in the door.

"You're back," Jane said, acknowledging her partner with a smile. "How did you do? Any luck with getting us a reliable eyewitness?"

"Not really," the detective answered, grimacing ruefully. "A number of teenagers saw him escape from the scene, but no one saw his face or could give me any sort of a description that would help our case. On a brighter note," he continued, flicking through the pages of his notebook, "I've just received an interesting call from a Mrs. Harrington, living in the Southview Apartments on East Fifty-Sixth Street."

"Oh," Detective Harris replied, her eyes sparking with sudden interest.

"She says she heard screams coming from the apartment next door."

"It's probably just a domestic." Detective Harris said, heaving a sigh of disappointment.

"No, it doesn't sound like it," Detective Casey replied excitedly. "The apartment has been vacant for months and when Mrs. Harrington tried to contact the manager of the building, all she got was a busy signal. We need to get down there immediately, Jane. I have a real bad feeling about this."

-------------

"This guy's good, almost too good," Agent Keane muttered discontentedly as he paced up and down Detective Harris's office. "I just got a call from the lab and they can find nothing on the note, not even a partial print," he complained. "We've been working this case flat out for days," he continued, snorting in frustration. "And we still have nothing. He's making goddamn fools of us."

"I know it's frustrating," Nancy said sympathetically. "But we have a few leads we can follow up on. If we assume this perpetrator is the same man who murdered my mother, then surely there must be some clue in her file that would be useful to our case," she suggested, sliding the stiff cardboard box toward the FBI agent to examine.

"Sorry for being so negative," Agent Keane offered with an apologetic grin. "It's just this case is really pissing me off. I feel like we're getting nowhere and every minute I'm just expecting to hear that another girl has been abducted or that another body has been found. Anyway, don't mind me," he muttered dismissively, glancing worriedly at Nancy. "How are you holding up?"

"A bit shellshocked, to be honest," Nancy replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I certainly wasn't expecting to see that note today," she finished weakly, her voice trailing away.

"Are you sure you're up for this, Nancy?" Agent Keane asked, his voice warm with concern. "I'll understand if this is too painful for you."

"No, I want to do this," Nancy answered firmly, a look of steely determination in her eyes. "I want to help bring this bastard down and to make sure he never does to another family what he has done to mine."

Smiling supportively at Nancy, Agent Keane sifted through the box, sliding out a bundle of yellowed police reports stapled together. Flicking through the pages, the agent scanned through the volumes of typed documents, his eyes lighting up with interest when he reached the appropriate page. "There were two main suspects in your mother's case, Nancy," Agent Keane informed her. "A Sam Fox and a Jack Curtis. In fact, it seems quite a case was built against Sam Fox, but it collapsed before it ever made it to trial."

"Why was that?" Nancy asked curiously.

"Something about evidence obtained illegally," he answered uncertainly, scanning through a court transcript. "It looks like there was a stack of evidence against this Sam Fox," Agent Keane muttered thoughtfully. "If this case got to trial, he would most certainly have been convicted."

"This could be our guy," Nancy exclaimed excitedly, turning to Agent Keane. "Can't we check his record on the police database?"

Nodding in response, the FBI agent tapped Sam Fox's information into the computer. "He's definitely not our killer, Nancy," he replied after a short pause, his face falling in disappointment. "Sam Fox was shot by a rival gang member three years ago."

"Who did you say was the other suspect?" Nancy inquired impatiently, peering into the police report grasped firmly in his hand.

"Jack Curtis," Agent Keith responded distractedly, feeding the name into the computer. "To be honest, Nancy, judging by the police reports, the evidence against him was sketchy at best."

"Oh my God." Nancy barely breathed as Jack Curtis's record flickered up onto the screen. "He's been in jail for the past twelve years for attempted murder. He was just released a month ago."

"That could explain the time lapse," Agent Keane murmured thoughtfully, scanning through the information on the computer screen. "It says here an ex-girlfriend has a restraining order against him for assault and he has a number of charges for drug possession and petty theft. What do you say we go and check him out?" he offered, scribbling Curtis's address in his notebook.

"We?" Nancy asked in confusion. "I'm not supposed to do any investigating outside the office, remember?" she finished, her eyes gazing at him questioningly.

"Look, between you and me, Nancy," Agent Keane began, meeting her gaze resolutely. "I've been very impressed with what I've learnt about you. You're one of the brightest, most determined girls I've met and if anyone has a right to see this asshole brought to justice, it's you. Look, if it's Jane you're worried about, don't be. Okay?" he reassured her, seeing the conflict on her face. "I'll speak with her later."

"It's not really Jane I'm worried about," Nancy admitted truthfully, turning to face the FBI agent. "It's my Dad. He doesn't want me working on this case anymore."

"Do what you feel is right, Nancy," Agent Keane advised her, glancing hurriedly at his watch. "But I'm leaving now, if you want to come."

"Okay," Nancy agreed nervously, her mind already made up. I just hope my Dad never finds out about this, she added silently to herself.

---------------------

Arriving at the dilapidated apartment, Agent Keane pounded forcefully on the scarred wooden door, the faded red paint peeling off in garish ribbons.

"FBI, open up, please," Agent Keane called out commandingly, rapping insistently at the door.

Nancy could hear faint mutterings of curses emanating from the apartment as an untidily dressed man pulled open the door, his eyes narrowed distrustfully. Noticing the deep green of the man's bloodshot eyes, Nancy's heart sank in disappointment.

"What the hell do you want," he spat out angrily, the sweet smell of liquor heavy on his breath.

"I'm Agent Keane and this is my assistant, Ms. Drew," he replied frostily, flashing his badge at the startled man. "Can we come in?"

"I don't suppose I have a lot of choice in the matter, do I, Agent Keane?" he muttered angrily, reluctantly moving aside to allow Nancy and the FBI agent access to the cramped, foul-smelling apartment. The shabby sitting room was sparsely furnished with ill-matched, threadbare sofas. Empty bottles of cheap whiskey littered the floor and the stale smell of drink lingered in the air. "What's all this about, anyway?" he sniffed suspiciously, running a hand over his unshaven face.

"We're here to ask you a few questions about the missing girls, Jack," Agent Keith said firmly, his eyes carefully searching the man's face for a reaction.

"Now look here, detectives," the man retorted, his voice high with panic. "I don't know anything about those girls. I've been real good since my release, checking in with my parole officer and all. You can check if you don't believe me." Curtis added pleadingly.

"Oh, we'll check alright, you can count on that, Curtis," Agent Keane promised sardonically, his tone sneering. "For now, though, we're going to take you down to the station to ask you a few questions."

Sighing in defeat, the man reluctantly allowed himself to be cuffed and escorted forlornly from the squalid dump he called home.

------------------

"How did things go at the apartment?" Nancy asked Detective Harris distractedly, looking up from the police reports she was carefully studying.

"The usual, I'm afraid," the detective proclaimed wearily, slumping gratefully into a chair. "A fight broke out between a young woman and her boyfriend. She got pretty banged up," the detective finished, shaking her head.

"Nancy," Detective Harris said gently, pulling her aside. "We've just received confirmation from the lab that the writing samples match. I've spoken to your father and he's on his way down to talk to us. He'll be here in a minute," she added, glancing at her watch.

"Thanks for the warning, Jane," Nancy said gratefully. "I better go and try talk to him first and hopefully sort things out."

"Good luck with that, Nancy," Detective Harris said supportively. "When you're finished, come up to my office and I can speak to you and your father then."

Flashing Jane an uneasy smile, Nancy took a deep breath and wandered through the chaos of the police department. Spying her father out of the corner of her eye, Nancy hurried over to greet him.

"I'm so sorry about this morning, Dad," Nancy apologized fervently, raising her eyes to meet his nervously.

"It's okay, Nan," her father said softly, gently squeezing her hand. "We'll talk after, okay?" he promised, giving her a quick hug.

"Thanks for coming down, Mr. Drew," Jane Harris welcomed him with a smile, gesturing at Nancy and Carson to sit down. "It's good to finally meet you," she said politely, reaching out to shake his hand. "I've heard so much about you from Nancy, who, may I add, has been a real asset around here over the past few days."

Smiling proudly at his daughter, Carson Drew waited expectantly for the detective to begin.

"Mr. Drew," she repeated, clearing her throat. "The reason I asked you down here today is that we found some new evidence pertaining to your wife's case."

"What kind of evidence?" he asked, staring at the detective in shock.

"We received a note from the man who has been involved in murdering all those teenage girls," Detective Harris began hesitantly.

"And?" Carson Drew prompted impatiently.

"The writing on this particular note matches the writing on the note sent by your wife's killer. We received confirmation from the lab earlier today, that they were a definite match," she finished.

"You can't seriously mean that this killer who is splashed all over the news, is the same man who murdered my wife," Carson spluttered disbelievingly.

"It certainly looks that way." Jane Harris murmured sympathetically.

"What about Nancy?" he said suddenly, clutching his daughter's hand. "This lunatic was in our home. In the original note, he threatened to kill her. What if he comes back?"

"Dad, he won't," Nancy said soothingly, turning to face her father. "Really, you're worrying about nothing."

"I wish I was, Nancy," her father sighed resignedly.

"I agree with your father, Nancy. Your safety has most definitely been compromised by this case. The note this morning was the last straw." She sighed, turning her attention to Nancy. "I've arranged for you to transfer to another department on Monday," she announced in her usual calm voice, ignoring the look of dismay on Nancy's face. "It's for the best, Nancy," she added comfortingly, her eyes pleading with her to understand.

Afterward, Nancy took a seat beside her father on a worn wooden bench, each silent, lost in their thoughts. "I'm really sorry I worried you, Dad," Nancy said after a pause, turning to look at her father.

"It's okay, Nan," Carson said gently, smiling at his daughter. "I was probably a little hard on you. I do trust you, you know," he added softly.

"I know," Nancy replied, smiling at her father. "Dad, about me and Ned..." Nancy began hesitantly.

"Yes," her father replied guardedly.

"Well, I'm not a kid anymore," Nancy began, fidgeting nervously with her ring. "We love each other and that's not going to change," she finished, meeting her father's gaze steadily.

"I know you're not a kid anymore," her father acknowledged softly, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. "I still worry about you, though," he added lovingly, dropping a kiss on her head.

"I know," Nancy answered with a smile.

"Don't think for a minute this is over," Carson warned her in a stern voice. "We'll have a long talk about this later, okay?"

"Okay," Nancy agreed warily, giving her father a last hug before heading back into the police station.

--------------------

"Hey, Drew," a voice called out, over the bustling chaos of the police station. "There's someone outside waiting to see you."

"Ned," Nancy sighed happily, smiling as she found her handsome boyfriend leaning casually against the door of his car. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came by to see if my gorgeous girlfriend wanted to grab some pizza or something," he said teasingly, pulling her close for a hug.

"That would be great, Ned," Nancy smiled gratefully, her stomach growling hungrily. "I haven't eaten a thing all day. Are you sure that's the only reason you came by?" Nancy asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Well, apart from wanting to do this," he teased, leaning in to kiss her softly on the lips. "I was also really worried about you," he added in a tender voice. "You seemed so upset this morning."

"I was," Nancy agreed, snuggling closer to him. "But I feel so much better, now that you're here."

The pizza place was mobbed with groups of lively teenagers, huddled noisily around their steaming pizzas. Ned's arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, Nancy began to hesitantly relay to him the disturbing events of the day, her tone hushed and secretive.

"You mean it's the same guy?" Ned uttered in shock, shakily replacing his slice of pizza in the box. "Nancy, this is fucked up," he muttered in disbelief, turning horrorstruck to his girlfriend. "How do you feel about the whole thing?" he asked gently, squeezing her close to him.

"The same, I guess," Nancy shrugged sadly. "It feels really weird to be dredging the case up again and having to look through the police reports and stuff. But, I can't help thinking that in some fucked up way, it might be a good thing," she finished, picking distractedly at a leftover slice of pizza. "This time he might be caught," Nancy said hopefully, forcing her gaze up to meet Ned's. "I know I'm a horrible person for even thinking that way," Nancy finished quietly, her eyes lowered to the floor. "But I can't help it."

"Hey, it's okay, Nan," Ned said reassuringly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I understand what you mean and it doesn't make you a horrible person, okay? It just makes you human."

"Thanks, Ned," Nancy smiled shakily, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without you. Oh, and by the way, I'm now officially off the case," Nancy informed him stonily. "I have to move to a new department on Monday." She finished by making a face.

"I hate to say it, Nancy, but I'm glad," Ned responded cautiously, gently cupping her face in his hands. "It was just too dangerous, and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you," he whispered lovingly, kissing her gently on her nose. "Did you sort things out with your Dad?" Ned inquired softly, pulling back and gazing worriedly at her.

"Yeah, things are okay, now," Nancy replied, smiling. "In fact, we're supposed to be going for dinner later," she admitted, clapping her hand guiltily over her mouth as she suddenly remembered.

"We could go and work off some of that pizza now, if you're interested," Ned suggested mischievously, laughing at the forced innocent expression on her face.

"I don't know what you mean, Nickerson," she responded, batting her eyelashes innocently at him. "Seriously, Ned, I would take you up on that lovely proposition, but I promised my Dad I'd be home by six," she explained, laughing. "Maybe tomorrow night, though?

"Definitely," Ned promised, drawing her close for a long, tender kiss.

-------------------

Her hands bound painfully behind her back, her throat parched and dry, Melanie Clarke screamed desperately for help, her cries growing steadily fainter as her voice cracked from dehydration and overuse. Pounding her feet on the ground in frustration, Melanie emitted a defeated sigh, leaning her head against the damp brick wall for comfort. Casting an eye around her basement dungeon, Melanie could only make out vague shadows in the thick blackness. Time held no meaning in this hellhole, where day or night blurred together, totally indistinct from one another. A tear slid down her cheek as Melanie suddenly realized the terrible hopelessness of her situation. Painfully adjusting her aching arms, bound awkwardly at the small of her back, Melanie gasped as she made out the figure of a man edging his way towards her in the darkness.

"Let me go, you bastard. What the hell do you want with me, anyway?" she shouted with all the strength she could muster.

"My, my. Aren't we the feisty one today," he chuckled, running a dirty fingernail over her tearstained cheek. "While it's admirable of you to keep up that screeching for the past day and a half, Melanie, It's also completely pointless. As I've explained before, there isn't a house around for miles."

"Let me go, you fucking asshole," Melanie spat through clenched teeth, struggling furiously with her binds.

"Now, now, Melanie. Mind your manners," he said mockingly, laughing softly at her sudden display of fury. "You behave yourself and I might even have another girl to keep you company tonight." Rummaging through his pockets, the man produced a can of soda and a parcel of steaming food wrapped tightly in tinfoil. "Oh, before I forget, Melanie, here's something to eat," he snickered, shoving the food on her lap. "Although I'm not sure how you're going to eat it, what with your hands tied behind your back and all. Anyway," he concluded mockingly, his voice taking on a jovial tone, "the food sure won't go to waste. There are plenty of rats down here that would be more than happy to eat it."

Chuckling darkly, the man retreated into the shadows, his heavy boots creaking ominously up the wooden stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Bright beams of sunshine streamed in through the open window as Nancy, Bess and George sat huddled around the Marvin's kitchen table, mugs of hot milky tea clutched firmly in hand.

"How's the case going, Nan?" George asked curiously, blowing delicately on her steaming mug of tea before taking a cautious sip.

"Don't even ask," Nancy muttered darkly, unenthusiastically spooning some of the gooey chocolate cake that Bess had insisted on serving them into her mouth.

"Why? Is something the matter, Nan?" Bess asked in surprise, raising her blue eyes quizzically to her friend. "Is everything okay?"

"No," Nancy answered shortly, distractedly cutting small, jagged pieces from her thick wedge of cake as she filled in her friends on the events of the past few days.

"So they really think that it's the same guy?" George echoed in disbelief, her eyes widening with shock.

"Yeah, it's definitely him," Nancy confirmed gloomily, laying her spoon dejectedly beside her plate.

"God, that's awful, Nan," Bess murmured sympathetically, reaching out to give her friend a supportive hug. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, you guys, really," she replied in an insistent tone, smiling reassuringly at her friends. "To be honest, I'm more worried about my Dad at the moment," Nancy admitted fearfully, tears prickling her eyes. "He's taken this new development in the case really badly. I don't think he's eaten or slept since Detective Harris spoke to him."

"He'll come around, Nancy," George said consolingly, her heart clenching as she saw the distress on her friend's face. "You know, you could have called us," she added in a soft voice, chastising her friend gently. "We would have been there for you."

"I know," Nancy replied, smiling gratefully at her friend. "But I had Dad and Ned, so I was fine. Thanks, though," she added gently, warmed by friends' concern.

"Do you have any idea what department you're going to be transferred into, Nan?" Bess asked after a moment's pause, sensing Nancy's need for a change of subject.

"Detective Harris hasn't told me, yet," Nancy answered quietly, her already dismal mood darkening even further. "But the way things are going for me at the moment, it will probably be traffic control or something equally as fascinating," she finished sarcastically, before turning to her friends with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, guys, for going on about it. Let's talk about something else," she offered graciously, shaking off the remains of her bad mood. "How's Dave?" Nancy asked Bess teasingly, turning expectantly to her friend for an answer.

"He's great." Bess sighed happily. "You're really going to like him, Nan. In fact, I've just had the most amazing idea," she bubbled excitedly, waving her hands dramatically around in the air.

"What?" Nancy asked curiously, a smile creeping across her face in spite of herself.

"You know that new club that just opened in town?" Bess asked eagerly, her eyes shining with excitement. "Well, Dave's dad owns it, so he could totally get us in," she finished impatiently, not waiting for the girls' response. "What do you think?"

"Count me in, Bess," Nancy answered enthusiastically, without a moment's hesitation. "I am in desperate need of some fun after the crappy week I've just had."

"What about you, George?" Bess asked, pressing her cousin excitedly. "Would you be up for it?"

"I can't," George mumbled regretfully. "My parents are having a dinner party and I'm supposed to help my mom with it."

"So it's just you and me then, Nan," Bess said jovially, flashing an excited smile at her friend. "We're going to have so much fun," she declared happily, hopping out of her seat and giving a little excited skip around the kitchen.

--------------------

Early the next day, Nancy and Ned walked hand-in-hand through the sun-drenched park, the fiery blaze of the sun overhead peeking through the thick canopy of trees overhead. A few lone children tore excitedly around the playground, swinging energetically off the jungle gym, as their parents watched adoringly from their perch on a battered picnic table.

"Race you to the swings," Nancy called out suddenly, her eyes shining with happiness as she broke free of her boyfriend's tight grasp and made a frantic dash towards the same rusted swings that had been in the park when Nancy herself was a little girl.

Laughing, Nancy flung herself onto the plastic seat of the swing, the ancient rusted chains creaking as she swung backward and forward in gentle, fluid motions, her long tanned legs dangling loosely on the air. "Beat you," she called out teasingly, smiling as Ned took his place on the swing beside her.

"Hey, no fair," he protested jokingly, pulling the chain of Nancy's swing towards him and kissing her gently on the lips. "You got a head start," he finished accusingly, a smile creeping slowly across

his face.

"You're way taller than me, Ned," Nancy reminded him playfully, leaning her head far back to gaze absently at the scattering of clouds that floated aimlessly in the azure-blue sky. "Admit it, Nickerson," Nancy said, glaring at her boyfriend jokingly. "I won fair and square and you know it."

"Okay, Nan, you won," Ned relented good naturedly, reaching for his girlfriend and pulling her gently onto his lap. "Do you want to do something later?" he asked softly, delicately tracing his hand lovingly down her face.

"Yeah, I'd love to," Nancy murmured happily, sighing contentedly as Ned pulled her close for a kiss.

Later, Nancy lay sprawled beside Ned on the cool grass, her skin prickling uncomfortably from the long day spent under the fierce glare of the sun. "Bess wants us to go to some club tomorrow night, Ned," Nancy mentioned casually, turning on her side to face her boyfriend. "You up for it?"

"Yeah, if you want," Ned replied offhandedly, taking Nancy's hand in his and squeezing it gently. "Mike's coming down for the night so we'll probably be heading out anyway. I'd rather if it was just you and me, though," Ned added thoughtfully, giving Nancy a tender smile. "The summer is going so fast and before we know it we'll have to go back to school."

"Don't say it, Ned," Nancy scolded him gently. "Let's just enjoy the last few weeks, okay?" she finished softly, leaning in and kissing him gently on the lips.

---------------------------

Slicking on a final coat of sticky lipgloss, Nancy ran her fingers lightly through her long reddish-blonde hair before stepping into her skyscraper-high stiletto heels. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, Nancy smiled approvingly. Her short blue dress clung flatteringly to her slim figure and showed off her recently acquired tan to best advantage. Tottering unsteadily down the stairs, Nancy self-consciously tugged down the short skirt of her dress before knocking softly on the door of her father's office.

"Dad," Nancy called out tentatively, peering cautiously around the door.

"Come in, Nancy," her father greeted her warmly, looking up from the papers he was studying. "Are you heading out with Ned somewhere?" he asked, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be, but I can stay home if you want me to," Nancy offered softly, taking in her father's pale, drawn face.

"No, Nancy, I'm fine," her father insisted. "I've got plenty of work to catch up on. Go out and have a great night, okay?" he said fondly, flashing his daughter a tired smile.

"Okay," Nancy reluctantly relented, giving her father a quick hug. "Don't wait up for me, Dad," Nancy added softly, "I'll probably be late."

"Okay, honey, have a lovely night," Carson said, smiling tenderly at his daughter. "I'll see you in the morning."

-----------------------

In spite of the ridiculously overpriced drinks and the sullen bar staff, the nightclub had evidently become a popular venue. The dance floor was crammed with smiling, happy faces swaying in beat to the familiar songs that spilled unrelenting from the giant speakers. Spotting Bess, flirting madly with an attentive group of guys, Nancy couldn't help but smile. Leaving Ned and Mike to amble over to the bar, laughing and joking, Nancy rushed over to greet her

friend excitedly.

"Hey, Nan, you look fantastic," Bess gushed happily, reaching out to hug her friend. "I love your dress."

"Thanks, Bess," Nancy replied with a smile. "You look fabulous too. Now, where is this Dave I've been hearing so much about?"

"Oh, he's catching up with some old high school friends," Bess shrugged dismissively, taking a sip from her frosted pink cocktail. "Don't worry, you'll get to meet him later. Where's Ned?" Bess asked curiously, scanning the faces of the crowd around her for sign of Nancy's boyfriend.

"He's at the bar with Mike ordering drinks. He'll be over in a minute."

As Bess stirred the icy cocktail with her straw, her eyes suddenly widened excitedly as a familiar song sounded over the speakers. "Oh my God, I love this song!" Bess gushed happily, pulling Nancy onto the crowded dance floor.

Later, as Bess was thoroughly occupied with finding Dave and Mike was happily chatting with some friends, Nancy and Ned eagerly took advantage of being alone for the first time all night. Backing Nancy against the wall, Ned kissed her passionately, his fingers knotted in her tangled waves of hair.

"You look gorgeous, Nan," Ned murmured appreciatively, running his hand delicately over her bare, glistening skin. "Stay with me tonight," he urged pleadingly, pressing his lips softly against her neck. "I miss you."

"I can't, Ned, really," Nancy mumbled apologetically. "I promised Dad I'd go straight home after and anyway he's still a little touchy about you and me, you know?" she finished shyly, gesturing with her hands meaningfully.

"I still can't believe he found out," Ned moaned disgustedly. "How am I ever going to face your father again? He probably wants to kill me."

"He doesn't, Ned. He actually took it pretty well, all things considered," Nancy said, smiling reassuringly at her boyfriend. "Relax, okay?" she finished, taking a sip from her elaborately named cocktail and reaching up to kiss Ned gently.

"You taste like strawberries and sugar," Ned murmured decisively, pulling back and kissing her gently on the nose. "Nan," Ned whispered tenderly, looking lovingly into her eyes. "I've been thinking a lot about what we're going to do when we have to go back to school."

"Oh," Nancy answered curiously, her heart melting at the tender look in his eyes.

"After I graduate, what would you think about us moving in together," Ned suggested hesitantly. "I know it's more than a year away, but still..." he continued, shrugging, his voice trailing away. "The last few days have got me thinking how much I love you and need you and how much I'd love to be with you all the time. What do you think, Nan?" he asked nervously, the words tumbling out in a rush.

"Okay, yes, I'd love to," Nancy agreed shyly after a pause, her eyes shining with happiness as Ned leaned in to kiss her.

"God, Nan, I love you so much," Ned murmured hoarsely, pulling her into his arms and twirling her around.

Two sickly-sweet cocktails later, nestled cozily at a table, Nancy sat on Ned's lap, facing him, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. "I can't believe we're really going to move in together," Nancy said between kisses, gasping as Ned's hand moved dangerously high up her thigh.

"I know," Ned muttered distractedly, his voice choked as Nancy's hand reached under his shirt. "Nancy, I really want you," he whispered desperately, pulling back and gazing lovingly into her eyes. "Can't we find the others and tell them we're leaving and I can take you home later?"

"Okay," Nancy agreed softly, tugging her dress down and reaching over to kiss Ned gently.

Feeling a hand on her arm, Nancy reluctantly broke away from Ned's touch. "Nancy, I need to talk to you," a voice from behind her spoke urgently.

"Bess?" Nancy said uncertainly, turning to find her friend, tears streaming down her mascara streaked face. Sensing the girls' need for privacy, Ned dropped a tender kiss on Nancy's forehead before joining Mike at the bar.

"God, what's happened, Bess? Are you okay?" she pressed her friend worriedly, wrapping her a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"No, I'm not okay," Bess managed to choke out between sobs. "I've hardly seen Dave all night and when I caught up with him, I found him making out with some random blonde."

"Forget Dave," Nancy advised Bess gently. "He's obviously an asshole if can treat you like this. You know, you could do so much better than him."

"But I don't want anyone else," Bess spat out angrily, pulling away from Nancy and storming across the busy nightclub.

"Where are you going?" Nancy called after her worriedly.

"Out, I don't know, Nancy," she shrugged helplessly. "I just have to get away from here."

"Bess, wait," Nancy called out pleadingly as her friend stalked across the club. Hurrying over to where Ned and Mike stood engaged in a lively debate about some basketball game, Nancy hurriedly relayed the events of the previous few minutes to them.

"I need to go after her," Nancy exclaimed worriedly. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"I'll come with you, Nan," Ned offered, concerned.

"No, it's better that you don't," Nancy said apologetically. "She's really upset and it would be better if I talked to her alone. I appreciate the gesture, though," Nancy whispered lovingly to her boyfriend, kissing him on the cheek before rushing after Bess, tottering unsteadily on her heels.

A cloud of bluish-grey smoke greeted Nancy as she pushed her way through the crowds of smokers, chatting and puffing contentedly on their cigarettes. Glancing around, Nancy anxiously scanned the unfamiliar faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bess's halo of soft

blonde curls, but there was no sign. Sliding her cell phone out of her bag, Nancy called Bess's number, rolling her eyes in annoyance as it went straight to voice mail. Where are you, Bess, Nancy thought desperately, pressing the redial button on her phone to call her friend again. The cool night air chilled Nancy and she wrapped her arms protectively around her goose-pimpled flesh, feeling exposed and self-conscious in her short blue dress. While the immediate area surrounding the club was busy and noisy, the streets outside of that were ominously dark and deserted.

"Bess," Nancy called out uneasily, anxiously wandering the isolated streets and peering apprehensively down unnervingly dark alleyways lined with stinking overflowing garbage cans. She must have gone back inside, Nancy suddenly decided, edging her way through the darkness to the welcoming glow of the club.

Dread washed over Nancy as the faint patter of footsteps emanated menacingly from the shadows. "Bess," Nancy called out uncertainly. "Is that you?"

At the answering silence, Nancy quickened her pace, breaking into a hesitant run as the footsteps bore down ominously on top of her.

Rounding the corner, Nancy could hear the gentle hum of voices spill reassuringly from outside the club when she tripped over a discarded soda can, falling heavily on her knees.

Scrabbling frantically to regain her footing, Nancy's eyes widened fearfully as the figure of a man appeared out of the shadows, twisting her arm painfully behind her back and clamping a hand over her mouth before she had a chance to scream. Struggling furiously with her unknown assailant, Nancy bit down hard on the man's finger.

"Bitch," he spat out angrily, waving the afflicted finger wildly in the air. "You try another stunt like that and I'll kill you. Understand?" he threatened menacingly, pressing the cold blade of a knife against her throat.

Frozen with fear, Nancy nodded slowly, gasping with terrifying realization when she saw the pale blue of his eyes glinting evilly at her.


	10. Chapter 10

Wishing everyone a Happy New Year!

* * *

Looking up from the giddy intoxicated conversation he was having with Mike, Ned spotted Bess making her way across the crowded dance floor, flirting outrageously with a dark-haired guy Ned recognized vaguely from his days at Mapleton. Giving her luminous colored drink a brisk stir with her straw, Bess tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder and practically skipped over to where Ned and Mike were perched at the bar, an excited, self-satisfied expression on her face.

"Oh, he's so cute. I am so going to have to find him in a while," she bubbled happily, completely oblivious to Ned and Mike's blatant disinterest.

Ignoring her comment, Ned looked quizzically at the empty space behind Bess. "Where's Nancy?" he asked in obvious confusion.

"What do you mean? She's with you, isn't she?" Bess asked blankly. "I haven't seen her since I had that fight with Dave."

"Bess, she went after outside after you, about a half an hour ago," Ned said, glancing at his watch worriedly. "Didn't you see her?"

"I never went outside," Bess informed him uneasily. "I got a drink at the bar and bumped into some guys from college. I haven't seen Nancy in ages."

"Shit, where the hell is she then?" Ned muttered apprehensively, hopping off the high stool and glancing over the crowd.

"Calm down," Mike advised him gently, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You know girls, she's probably outside catching up with some of her friends from school."

"I don't know," Ned said uneasily. "This is Nancy we're talking about, not some "normal" girl. I haven't had a chance to fill you in about everything that's been happening around here, but she's had a really rough week."

He knew he might be panicking needlessly, but Ned couldn't quite shake the feeling that something bad had happened to Nancy. The memory of the events of the past few days was still very raw in his mind and Ned was suddenly gripped by the very real, terrifying fear that Nancy was gone, a victim of the same crazed psycho her own mother had been.

Spurred into action, Ned dug in his pocket for his phone and pressed his speed-dial for her number with slightly shaking hands. _Come on, Nancy_, Ned pleaded silently as the phone rang and rang, seemingly endlessly before it clicked through to the familiar greeting on her voice mail. Hearing her warm, soft voice, the same voice she had used to so eagerly agree to move in with him just hours earlier, made him ache inside.

"I'm going to go find her," Ned said, with far more confidence than he felt.

"I'll go with you, buddy," Mike offered, placing his beer on the bar.

"No, stay here, Mike," Ned pleaded. "Maybe ask around the club and see if anyone has seen her in the past half hour. Call me if you hear anything, okay?"

Nodding wordlessly, Mike edged his way through the crowded club, pausing at intervals to talk to vaguely familiar faces.

"What do you want me to do, Ned?" Bess asked hesitantly, her face white with worry.

"Stay here, Bess, and keep trying her phone," Ned commanded, the steadiness of his voice belying the level of fear mounting rapidly in his heart. "Hopefully Nancy will be back in a minute and she'll be wondering where the hell everyone is."

"Okay, Ned," Bess replied shakily. "You'll call me if you hear anything, won't you?"

"Of course I will. Now I'd better go. Just keep calling her number," Ned reminded her, before disappearing into the crowd.

Apart from a small gathering of giggling girls huddled around the door, lit cigarettes clutched loosely in their hands, it was surprisingly quiet outside the club.

"Do you need a light, honey?"

Looking up, Ned watched a tall, beautiful blonde approach him, casting appreciative looks at him with her over made-up eyes.

"No, I'm actually looking for my girlfriend," Ned explained, not missing the way her face fell when she realized he was taken. "She's got long reddish-blonde hair and is wearing a short blue dress. She might have been out here about a half hour ago." Ned considered for a minute, glancing at his watch. "You didn't see her by any chance, did you?" he asked hopefully.

"We only came out for a smoke five minutes ago and we were the only ones out here," the girl replied apologetically. "Sorry I can't help."

"That's all right," Ned shrugged half-heartedly, thanking the blonde before stalking down the street, hoping and praying he'd find Nancy whole and safe and she'd be thoroughly apologetic for putting him through this hell and would reassure him with gentle kisses and loving attention and might even suggest they leave early to carry on what they began in the club, warm and secure in his bed.

Making his way through the dark, deserted streets, Ned's worry and anxiety increased with every step he took. The sheer isolation of the area worried him. Few cars wound their way down the narrow streets and Ned hadn't seen a single person since he left the pouting blonde minutes before.

_God, where are you, Nancy?_ Ned thought desperately.

At the sound of his phone, Ned pulled it out of his pocket and answered it impatiently, his stomach plummeting with disappointment on hearing Mike's deep voice instead of Nancy's gentle tones.

"Ned, I can't find her in here," Mike informed him worriedly. "I've asked around the club and spoken to some of the girls and they haven't seen her all night."

"Thanks, Mike," Ned responded woodenly, panic burning in his chest. Pushing away the fear that was growing inside of him with every passing second, Ned redoubled his efforts, stalking down darkened alleyways and calling her name frantically, when a glint of something shining on the ground caught his eye. Rushing over to examine the object, Ned's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the glittering bracelet as a present he'd given to Nancy on her eighteenth birthday. Turning the silver bracelet over in his hands, Ned felt sick. The sight of the piece of jewelery, cold and broken in his hands, confirmed every dreaded, horrible fear he had been battling to repress since the moment he realized Nancy could be missing.

The bracelet still clutched in his hand, Ned broke into a run and pushed his way frustratedly through the swarms of people clogging up the club.

"Any sign, Bess?" Ned asked hopefully, the little optimism he'd allowed himself feel dashed at the sight of Bess's mascara streaked face.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. Mike has spoken to security, but they're completely useless," Bess answered despondently, her eyes swimming in tears. "God, this is all my fault," she moaned pitifully as a fresh wave of tears slid down her face. "If I hadn't made such a big deal about the drama with Dave, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Look, Bess, this is not your fault," Ned said kindly, placing a sympathetic arm around the girl. "Stop crying. Your tears aren't helping anyone, least of all Nancy."

"I'm sorry, Ned. You're right," Bess agreed shakily, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. "What are you going to do?"

"First I'm going to call her dad. Maybe she's at home," Ned muttered doubtfully. "And then I guess I'd better call the police. I didn't show you this a minute ago, but look what I found outside," he confided in Bess, opening his closed fist to display the mangled bracelet.

---------------

The insistent ringing of the phone roused Carson from a deep dreamless sleep. Exhausted, rubbing his eyes tiredly, he stared at the illuminated dial of the clock. Apprehension washed over him as he made sense of the numbers glowing ominously in the dark. Carson fumbled for the phone on the bedside locker and answered it abruptly.

"Hello?" he said, his voice edged in fear.

"Mr. Drew, I'm sorry for calling you so late and I know this sounds strange, but is Nancy home?"

"What do you mean, is Nancy's home? She's with you, isn't she?" Carson answered, panic creeping slowly into his voice.

"Not exactly, sir," Ned replied nervously. "She headed outside the club to talk to Bess half an hour ago and I haven't seen her since. I've looked everywhere for her."

Hearing the tremor in the young man's voice, Carson's fears increased tenfold. He tore off his light layer of blankets and rushed into his daughter's room. At the sight of Nancy's neatly made bed, raw panic descended over him.

"Ned, she's not here," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Where are you?"

Hurriedly scribbling down the address, Carson pulled on his clothes. "I'm on my way down, stay exactly where you are."

--------------

Weak and nauseated from lack of food, Melanie closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, to get at least some escape, no matter how brief, from the living nightmare her life had somehow turned into. Cradling her head in her arms, Melanie lay down on the cold stone floor, trying not to think about the hordes of rats and mice that no doubt lurked in the shadows nearby. As an overhead bulb flickered on, Melanie gasped, petrified, her eyes screwed up in tight slits, unaccustomed to the harsh light after so much time spent trapped in darkness. At the sound of the heavy cellar door groaning open, Melanie sat up abruptly, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

"I'm back, Melanie," she heard his voice chorus cheerfully.

As Melanie's eyes adjusted, she was shocked to see her captor pound heavily down the creaking basement steps, faceless beneath a dark mask, a girl draped limply in his arms. The girl, she noticed, was deathly pale, her long hair tangled and stained red with blood, vivid purplish-blue bruises rising on her dangling limbs. Only the gentle rising of her chest convinced Melanie that she was still alive.

"Who's she?" Melanie asked weakly, her shocked gaze resting on the bloodied face of the unconscious teenager.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he answered gruffly, laying the girl awkwardly on the ground. "Melanie, you're coming with me," he commanded, pulling her up roughly and swiftly cutting her bindings loose with a knife.

"You're letting me go?" Melanie asked hopefully, stumbling over the uneven ground, unsteady on her feet after days of being tied up.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he chuckled darkly, shaking his head in amusement. "You, my dear, are going nowhere," he sneered unpleasantly, lunging at the cowering girl with the knife.


	11. Chapter 11

His expression weary and guarded, as though he was unsettlingly familiar to such tragedy in his life, Carson practically abandoned his car on the street and battled through the droves of giggling, smiling faces spilling out of the now still and quiet nightclub. Fixed motionless in a harshly lit corner, stunned and disbelieving, Ned, Bess and Mike were giving their hesitant, uncertain accounts of the night to the police. It had all happened so quickly, really, there wasn't a lot to tell. One minute she had been standing here happy and smiling and making plans for the future and the next she was gone. It was as simple as that.

The cruel unfairness of the whole situation angered Carson to the very core of his being. If his daughter was not found soon, whole, safe and unharmed, he knew that that was it for him. He had already lost his wife and he couldn't go through that same hell all over again. Abandoned by rational thought and reason, Carson stormed over to where the police detectives were questioning the distraught trio, his face white with anger, his fists clenched in tight balls by his side.

"How could you let this happen to my daughter?" Not giving the detective a chance to respond, Carson tore on, the volume of his voice increasing as his anger intensified. "You got her involved in this mess and now she's gone. If this madman lays one finger on my child, by God, I'll make sure every one of you pay."

"You need to calm down, sir," a graying, middle-aged detective urged him in gentle, soothing tones, well versed in the art of dealing with distraught parents. "We're doing everything in our power to help find your daughter but this," he explained patiently, gesturing at Carson's irate stance, "is not helping. I know you're pissed as hell, but right now we need your help if we have any hope of finding Nancy alive. Can you do that for us?"

Anxiety for his daughter overriding his intense and furious anger, Carson forced the feelings down and nodded tightly.

"How can I get her back?"

--------------------

Agitated, Carson Drew lay stiffly on his bed, staring unblinking at the ceiling. It was almost five o' clock in the morning and the new day was being slowly heralded in. Sighing with exasperation, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes tightly, praying for sleep to come. He was exhausted, he hadn't managed to have a good night's sleep in at least at week, but the plethora of unsettling thoughts running through his head guaranteed that he would remain awake, staring with dead, cold eyes into the darkness.

It was all his fault, he reasoned. He'd allowed Nancy too much freedom, as a parent had been a touch too lenient. Perhaps, if he'd been a little stricter, a little less indulgent, Nancy would be home safe now. Carson couldn't allow himself to forget that Nancy had offered to stay home but he, so wrapped up in his work had practically insisted she go out with her friends.

Swallowing a painful lump down his throat, Carson sat up and rested his face in his hands. Thoughts like this weren't helping, blaming himself wasn't going to change anything. If he'd learned anything from Sara's death, it was that all the regrets in the world wouldn't bring her back. With newfound resolve, Carson straightened up. He would find his daughter and bring her home, even if it killed him.

Exhausted and drained by the detective's intensive questioning but equally reluctant to go home, Ned lay still and unsleeping in the guest room of the Drew house, his mind awash with dreadful images of Nancy scared and alone, maybe even hurt, at the mercy of a crazed madman. Kicking out of the stifling heat of the blankets, Ned found himself drawn into Nancy's room, the delicate scent of her perfume still lingering the air. Running his fingers lightly over all her familiar things, Ned felt sick. If he didn't get Nancy back soon, he didn't know what he was going to do.

The following morning Ned and Carson sat rigid and tense, staring blankly at the television screen under the guise of watching a news report while in reality both men strained painfully for any noise, the phone ringing, the peal of the doorbell, anything at all that would bring news of Nancy's whereabouts. Startled by a sharp rap on the door, both men sprang to their feet, each uncertain of what the next few seconds would bring. Carson answered it immediately, the abruptness and impatience of his tone telling Ned that this indeed was the call that they had been waiting for. Watching the detectives shuffle awkwardly into the room, their stance guarded and nervous, Ned felt instantly sick.

"What's the news, detectives?" Carson asked, his voice amazingly steady and calm.

"There's been a body found, Mr. Drew," a woman Ned recognized as Detective Harris informed him nervously. "There's detectives and police officers out there recovering it as we speak."

"What?" Carson barely managed, his voice thready with shock. "Are you trying to tell me that you've found my daughter's body?"

"There's been no positive ID on the body as of yet."

"But there's a possibility that the body is Nancy's?"

"Look, we'll know more when the medical examiner arrives. Apparently the media is already all over this and I just don't want you to have to hear about this on the news or in the paper," Detective Harris explained, her voice firm but sympathetic. "Now, we need to get down there, immediately, and we'll call you when we have more information."

"I'm coming with you," Carson said firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"So am I," Ned chimed in, in miserable agreement.

"You know I can't permit that, Mr. Drew," the detective responded pleadingly. "I promise I'll call you the second I hear any news."

"If that is my child lying out in some field alone, I have to be there," he declared resolutely. "Do you have any children, Detective Harris?"

At the detective's small nod, Carson finished pleadingly. "Then you should understand. I'm coming and I'm not taking no for an answer."

Realizing it was futile to resist, Harris agreed, and the flashing blue light of the solitary police car led the solemn procession to the murder scene where yet another teenage girl lay dead and lifeless on the ground.

Wading through the tall dew-soaked grass, Ned's feet squelched unpleasantly as the cold water seeped into his shoes and socks. Barely even noticing, Ned trudged on. The cries of protest from surrounding police officers, the crackling static from the radios and the screeching sirens faded from his consciousness. The only thing he cared about was finding Nancy, safe and well.

A ragged trail of bright red blood made a glimmering path to the dumping ground where the remains had been so callously tossed. The body, carelessly sprawled on the ground, barely concealed under the gently swaying blades of red-tinged grass, was a hideous mess of shining blood. Seeing the shock of dark hair, slick with freshly shed blood, Ned went slack with relief.

"It's not her," Carson proclaimed thankfully, practically sinking to the ground with relief. "Thank God for that."

Ned's initial sense of relief was short lived at the realization that Nancy was still missing, was still out there, somewhere alone, at the mercy of a crazed madman. Tomorrow, next week, next year, there still remained the possibility of another phone call, another field, another dead girl and this time it could be Nancy he might find, face down in the mud, her red-gold hair slick with blood.

Sickened by the thought of it, the image of the dead girl still fresh in his mind, Ned sank to his knees, retching violently on the cold, damp ground.

---------------

Groggy and sick, Nancy cautiously raised her throbbing head, acutely aware that any sudden jerk or movement would result in her vomiting all over the ground. Confused, her brain like a leaded weight, Nancy opened her eyes sluggishly, shock swelling at the thick darkness that surrounded her.

_Where the hell am I?_ she thought miserably, a fresh wave of panic descending over her as she suddenly realized her hands and feet were bound tightly by some sort of nylon rope that was cutting

excruciatingly painful welts into her skin. Her whole body ached dreadfully and her bound limbs did not allow her even the courtesy of being able to explore the extent of her injuries with her hand. Fuzzy memories of a man's blue eyes staring at her evilly through a black hooded mask came rushing back and Nancy felt sick as a sudden awareness of how desperate her situation was, flooded her. This was the man who'd killed her mother, who'd butchered countless other girls and who was now, more than likely, going to do the same to her.

Forcing herself to keep calm, Nancy decided to make some sense of her makeshift prison. Peering through the darkness, she made out vague outlines of towering shelves in the shadows and judging by the cool, musty smell and the rough, hard ground, Nancy guessed she was in some sort of cellar or basement. Somewhere nearby, Nancy made out faint scratching noises which made her think uneasily of the presence of rats or mice. The air was damp and heavy and the whole place was cloaked in a thick, metallic smell.

In all the cases she had taken, all the danger she had found herself in, she had never before felt so hopeless and alone. She longed to be at home safe with her father and Ned. They would be terribly worried about her. Worst of all, she had no idea how long she'd been prisoner in this hellhole. It could be hours, days or even weeks. In her present situation she had absolutely no way of telling.

As the first of the tears streaked down her cheek, Nancy bowed her head and allowed herself to cry.


	12. Chapter 12

Chilled by the heavy damp of her basement dungeon, Nancy shivered involuntarily, goosebumps rising on her skin. Delicately stretching the cramped arms bound tightly behind her back, Nancy winced as the rough nylon rope cut into the tender and bloodied wrists. In a futile bid to escape, Nancy had rubbed her wrists raw on a piece of jagged stone protruding from the wall until she had felt a warm rush of blood trickle down her arm. Frustratingly, despite her valiant efforts, the binds remained as tight as ever and showed absolutely no sign of slackening.

Nancy tried not to think about how long she had left to escape. Both Jenny's and Chloe's bodies were found relatively quickly after they had gone missing, and God only knew where poor Melanie Clarke had ended up. She wondered if her mother had felt like this in the moments before she died: scared, vulnerable, and utterly defenseless. Taking a deep breath, Nancy forced herself to keep calm. Dissolving into a panicked mess wasn't going to help and it was most certainly not going to get her out of here. Resting her head against the cold, rough wall, Nancy tried desperately to formulate a plan. There had to be a means of escape, there always was, she rationalized firmly. A piece of glass lying unnoticed on the ground, a nail rusted into the wall or a pocketknife secreted in her shoe.

But the reality was, Nancy reflected miserably, was that she had none of these things and time was running out. She couldn't even move for Christ's sake, could barely see through the thick darkness, much less hope for a successful escape.

A jarring, creaking noise coming from above jolted Nancy to her senses. Hardly daring to peer up, she gasped as a faint sliver of light poked into the darkness and the silhouette of a man appeared at the top of the crudely constructed stairwell. Her heart in her mouth, Nancy froze in fear as the heavy thud of his boots creaked down the steps and the figure made his way menacingly towards her.

-------------------------

As she strode purposefully across the cobbled driveway of the Masons' quaint timber-framed home, fragrant pale-pink blooms clamoring up its neatly painted walls, Detective Jane Harris hardly dared hope that Vickie, so pale and fearful after her attack, would miraculously remember some invaluable piece of information that would lead the Chicago PD straight to Nancy. It was a long shot, she knew, but one worth pursuing nonetheless. In all her years working on the force as a lead detective, the power of the human brain in repressing the most upsetting, traumatic events of a person's life never ceased to amaze her. With a little gentle probing, Jane prayed she'd be able to extract something meaningful from the girl, some clue that would set her team on the right track. At the moment, they were floundering, and she knew it. The body language of her colleagues spoke volumes. They were worried, petrified. Four girls dead, a fifth missing and not a scrap of evidence or a shred of a clue that could lead them to this killer before he made his next move.

Giving the tarnished door knocker a firm, sharp rap, Detective Harris stepped silently back opposite Agent Keane. Neither one was willing to engage in meaningless small talk when a girl's life hung in the balance. As the door swung open to reveal a petite, middle-aged blonde, streaks of silvery gray running through her hair, Detective Harris and Agent Keane extended their hands to greet the woman hurriedly, eager to speak with Vickie.

"Hello, I'm Carole," she smiled weakly, the pale gray of her face betraying her seemingly calm demeanor. "Vickie is ready to speak with you, though I should warn you she has had a very tough few days," the woman confided in low, hushed tones, worry and fear etched on her face. "She hasn't been sleeping very well and I don't think she's eaten a bite of food since."

"That's perfectly understandable, Carole," Detective Harris assured her softly. "Vickie has been through a terrible ordeal. She'll come around though, you just need to give her time."

"I hope you're right," the woman finished with a tight smile, ushering the pair into a high-ceilinged room, the elegantly papered walls plastered with hundreds of smiling family photographs. Her tiny frame swamped by the oversized armchair, Vickie sat stiffly at the edge of the seat, her hands twisted nervously on her lap.

"Thanks for meeting with us, Vickie," Detective Harris began cordially, taking a seat beside Agent Keane on an overstuffed sofa scattered with brightly colored cushions. "We need to go over a few of the things that happened Thursday night at the diner."

Nodding tightly, Vickie tucked a coil of blonde hair behind her ear and waited expectantly for the detective to continue.

"You said you left the diner to speak with a friend on the phone," Detective Harris began, gesturing for Vickie to elaborate.

"Yeah, I was on the phone with Candice. She'd just had a huge fight with her boyfriend and it was really noisy in the diner, so I went outside."

"Can you remember if there was any one else outside the diner, a classmate perhaps or somebody smoking a cigarette?"

"No, I was the only person outside," Vickie answered with certainty, meeting the older woman's eyes. "I made sure of it before I talked to Candice because I didn't want anyone else from school listening in on our conversation. God, it seems so stupid now," she muttered angrily, resting her face in her hands. "If only I hadn't gone outside."

"You didn't know, Vickie," the detective reassured her soothingly, flicking through her notebook and hastily scribbling.

"Would you say you're a regular customer of the diner?" Agent Keane interjected, his voice carefully composed.

"Yeah, I go there about once or twice a week, usually after cheerleading practice," the girl explained, confusion clouding her pretty face. "Why do you ask?"

Brushing her uncertainty aside, the FBI agent persevered with his line of questioning, looking Vickie square in the eye. "When you were in the diner that night, was there anything that struck you as odd? Maybe an unruly customer or somebody acting strangely?"

"I don't think so," Vickie answered uncertainly, her face strained with concentration. "I mean, it's kind of hard to say. The diner was absolutely packed and I was having fun with my friends, so I wasn't exactly looking around."

"That's okay, Vickie," Agent Keane replied in a strained voice, trying not to make his frustration too obvious. "At what time approximately did you leave the diner to take the phone call from Candice?"

"A little after eight," Vickie responded shakily, her growing distress painfully evident in her voice.

"And how much time would you say elapsed between the time you took the call and when you were attacked?"

"Only a few minutes, no more than four or five," she ventured, licking her lips nervously. "The next thing I knew, he had his arms around me."

"You didn't notice or hear anything in the moments before the attack?" Agent Keane queried, his steepled hands raised to his face.

"Nothing," Vickie replied vehemently, an annoyed expression crossing her face. "It's my own fault. I was distracted by the telephone conversation and I guess I just didn't pay enough attention to what was going on around me."

"You've got to stop blaming yourself, Vickie," Detective Harris urged her insistently, regarding the stricken teen with concern. "Really," she added in a firm, no-nonsense voice. "There's nothing you could have done to prevent this. Now, we desperately need your help. You've probably heard reports about a fifth girl who has gone missing."

"Yeah, it was on the news earlier," Vickie replied, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Folding her arms together, Jane Harris leaned forward on her seat, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Vickie, we need you to tell us, in minute detail, everything you remember about the attack. It is imperative you do not leave anything out. Is that understood?"

Nodding, Vickie swallowed nervously. "I was on the phone when he grabbed me from behind and held me so tight I thought he was going to choke me to death. I was terrified, so I kicked him hard on the leg and screamed, hoping he'd let me go, but he didn't. He threatened to shoot me if I made another sound and started to drag me away from the diner. There was one thing I couldn't stop thinking about though," she recalled, a faint smile gracing her pale face.

"What was that, Vickie?" Detective Harris pressed the girl, pausing to exchange a puzzled look with the FBI agent.

"It was really weird, because he sounded local, but when he got angry with me he almost sounded English. Even though I was petrified I remember thinking that some of the things he said made him sound exactly like Clive Owen, who I've had the biggest crush on since I saw Closer with some friends last year. You think I'm crazy, don't you?" Vickie finished, a wry smile on her face as she gazed sheepishly between the pair.

"You didn't mention this in your previous statement, Vickie," Detective Harris noted, gazing in surprise at the blonde teen.

"I didn't?" Vickie replied in shock, her body rigid against the hard backed armchair.

"No," Detective Harris responded, fresh excitement creeping into her voice at the prospect of a much needed lead. "How sure are you on this?"

"One hundred percent positive," Vickie replied with certainty, a look of steely determination on her face. "I can still hear his voice in my head, and I'm sure I could identify it if I had to."

----------------------------

"Police are still carrying out door to door inquiries in an effort to track the killer, dubbed the Teen Slasher, who has been responsible for at least four deaths so far, with a fifth girl reportedly missing. Police are urging people to keep their doors and windows securely locked and not to go out alone. Now, over to you, Kerry, for the rest of the day's news." Sighing, Carson switched off the radio, struggling to keep his emotions under control.

Thirty-six hours since Nancy's disappearance and twelve since the discovery of Melanie Clarke, Carson's confidence in the Chicago PD was slowly waning, along with any hope he had of finding his daughter alive. Leafing through the files spread across his desk, Carson sighed in resignation. Though normally a successful tactic, today work was not serving as an effective distraction. He was too worried, too frustrated, and the sight of Melanie's bloodied remains the previous night had only intensified his anxiety. Pacing the darkened study, Carson stared at the phone, almost daring it to ring, and when at last he could stand it no longer, he grabbed it off his desk and punched in the familiar number.

------------------------

As the sudden burst of light filled the room, Nancy squeezed her eyes together tightly, the blinding brightness of it piercing her brain. Fear coupled with uncertainty made her stomach turn and her breath emerge in ragged, shaky gasps.

"Look what you made me do," he clucked disapprovingly, running his fingers lightly over her bruised, battered skin.

The warmth of his voice was unexpected, as was the look of concern shining in his eyes, when Nancy finally found the courage to meet his gaze tentatively.

"I didn't want to hurt you, you know," he mumbled apologetically. "But you were such a fighter, you didn't really give me a choice."

Though her skin was tinged a deep bluish-purple and covered in bloody scrapes and grazes, Nancy noted with relief that her injuries were mostly superficial and would not prove to be a hindrance should she miraculously find an opportunity to escape.

"Those cuts sure look nasty. Are they sore?" he muttered, almost to himself.

Startled, Nancy jerked her face up to meet his gaze. "What?"

"I just asked if you are in any pain." her captor repeated in his slow, deliberate way.

"I'm fine," Nancy spat out frustratedly, determined not to let him see just how scared she really was. "What the hell do you care about a few cuts and bruises, anyway?" she exclaimed angrily, seething at the audacity of the man, pretending to care about her when he was probably going to kill her in a few short hours.

"I'll go and get some hot water and a little antiseptic and we'll see if we can't have you as right as rain in no time at all," he prattled on mildly, not appearing to have heard or taken any notice of Nancy's caustic remarks.

As the soles of his shoes slapped on the old wooden steps, Nancy took a deep, calming breath and forced herself to mentally examine every inch of her musty basement prison while she could. The room was a treasure trove of abandoned junk. Towering shelves wrapped around the room held the usual assortment of paint-splattered tins, rusted oil cans flecked with spots of grease, and rotting cardboard boxes holding a jumble of long forgotten items. The silvery remnants of cobwebs hung delicately in the air and a thick layer of dust covered every surface. Frantically gazing around, Nancy's heart sank as she realized that the basement's only escape route was the creaking door at the top of the stairs.

Hearing her captor's heavy footsteps pound down the wooden staircase, Nancy froze, her body leaden at the thought of what he would do to her. But as he lay a bowl of steaming water awkwardly on the ground beside her, the liquid tinged a pale amber, Nancy stared at him, surprised. Soaking a strip of cotton wool in the steaming liquid, he gently dabbed at a bloodied cut on her right knee. At his touch Nancy flinched, and she didn't miss the sudden burst of anger that flashed in his eyes.

"Why are you being so difficult? I'm only trying to help you."

"If you were trying to help me, you wouldn't have brought me here in the first place," Nancy challenged him angrily, her face aglow with fury. "What the hell do you want with me anyway?"

"You belong here," he stated simply, as though it were a matter of fact, his attention focused solely on tending to her broken skin.

"No, I don't," Nancy practically screamed in frustration. "I belong in River Heights with my dad. He will be so worried about me, and so will my boyfriend and all my friends. They're probably out looking for me right now."

"You need to calm down." he cautioned her, pressing a dirty finger to her lips and urging her to stop.

"No, you need to let me go," she demanded, struggling free from his grasp.

The sudden stinging sensation as he slapped her hard across her face left Nancy reeling.

"Now, look what you made me do," he admonished her, the anger fading slowly from his eyes. "Goddamn it Sara, you just make me so angry sometimes."

Shaking his head in annoyance, he resumed bathing her cuts, while Nancy simply stared at him in shock, her mouth agape.

---------------------

"Is there any news?" Carson pleaded anxiously, all usual pleasantries abandoned in his anguished state.

"We have something," Detective Harris admitted cautiously, unwilling to raise the man's hopes unnecessarily and then have them cruelly dashed should Vickie's information end up being another depressing dead end.

"What is it?" Carson demanded impatiently. "Do you know where my daughter is?"

"Not exactly," the detective replied. "But we were talking to Vickie Mason earlier and she's positive that her assailant spoke with a slight English accent. Now, we've reviewed all your wife's files and we can find nothing there to lead us to believe that any of the original suspects had any English connections."

"Right, so where do we go from here?" Carson asked worriedly.

"Well presuming Vickie is right, we are looking for someone for someone who has spent time in England, perhaps was even born there. Can you think of anybody Sara might have mentioned who fits this description, someone she was possibly afraid of?"

"There was this one guy who bothered her when she was in high school. I think he was transferred from another school during her senior year, but I'm not definitely sure," Carson offered hesitantly. "I didn't know Sara back then and she only ever mentioned him a couple of times to me but I could tell by the way she spoke about him, that she'd been pretty scared of him. You don't really think it could be him, do you?" he asked doubtfully. "It was years ago and it was probably just some harmless teenage crush."

"It probably isn't him," Detective Harris agreed wearily. "But it's the best lead we have at the

moment, so it's definitely worth checking out. Do you have any idea what that guy's name was?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"I'll get in touch with Celine and she should be able to tell me." Carson answered confidently. "She was a very close friend of Sara's in high school, so if anyone can tell us who he is, she can."

-----------------------

Slamming the ball hard against the backboard, Ned watched impassively as it teetered uncertainly on the rim before sinking through the net. In the hope of distracting Ned, Mike had suggested taking advantage of the fine day and shooting a few hoops out in the backyard. While the game was doing little to take his mind off Nancy, it did at least afford him the opportunity to expel some of the nervous energy choked up inside of him. Not knowing where Nancy was, whether she was hurt or even alive, was driving him crazy. His lack of involvement in recovering his girlfriend was making it worse. He wanted to help, needed to do something to get her back, and being constantly left out of the loop was worse than maddening. Frustrated, he fired the ball at the ground, rage building up inside of him. The whole unfairness of the situation was killing him, eating away at his very being. The day was scorching hot, all blue sunny skies with not a drop of rain on the horizon, and Ned knew that if Nancy was here they would have gone on a drive to some gloriously secluded lake and spent the evening on the shore laughing and making out, pausing only to sample the cool clear water, Nancy dressed in a deliciously skimpy bikini.

"She'll be okay, buddy," Mike offered sympathetically, eyeing his friend with concern. "Really," he added in a tone that was far from certain.

"You don't know that Mike," Ned responded quietly, wiping a hand across his sweat dampened brow. "Look, I know you're only trying to help, but it's been almost two days and he's a serial killer for Christ's sake. He's already killed at least four girls in the space of a week, what makes you think Nancy's going to be any different?"

His words hanging uneasily in the air, Ned swooped down gracefully, grabbed the ball and dribbled it up the center of the court when his phone buzzed angrily on the ground. The game forgotten, he dropped the ball, where it bounced aimlessly for a minute before rolling idly away under some overgrown shrubbery.

"Have you got any news?" Ned asked with some trepidation on realizing the caller was Carson Drew.

"We might have something, Ned," Carson informed him cagily. "Vickie Mason has some new information that could help break the case. Look, I'd rather not say too much over the phone but get down here right now and I'll fill you in."

His fists closed around his keys, Ned barely paused to relate a hasty explanation to Mike before hopping into his car, the wheels squealing in protest as he screeched out of the drive.

---------------------

"Got you some food," the man informed her gruffly, laying a crumpled paper bag at her feet. "It's a chicken sandwich," he offered by way of explanation, ripping off the layers of crinkled tinfoil to reveal a slightly squashed sandwich, creamy mayonnaise oozing out the sides. "Do you like chicken? Because I can bring you something else next time if you want."

"Chicken is fine," Nancy shrugged indifferently, warily eyeing the soggy mess. Anyway, it wasn't like she was very hungry. The fear and dread that plagued her every waking moment had made sure of that but Nancy knew she had to eat, if only to keep her steadily waning strength up.

"Thank you for the food," Nancy piped up softly, a faint smile touching her face. As much as the thought sickened her, Nancy had come to realize that her best chance of survival was to keep the man happy. The occasional smile could help put off the inevitable and, more importantly, buy her a little time while she devised a means of escape. The shock of discovering that her captor thought she was her own dead mother was still painfully raw, but Nancy was hopeful that she could somehow use the fact to her advantage.

"That's okay," he replied, her gratitude rewarded with a brief, tight smile. "Here, take a drink of water," he began, his words cut off as a hissing crackling noise sounded from above and the single light bulb exploded into a shower of sparks, glass scattering all over the ground.

"Goddamn electrics in this house," the man swore under his breath, groping blindly in the dark, sending boxes and jars crashing to the ground. The liquid contents pooled at her feet and seeped into the thin material of her dress, the smell of fumes heavy in the air.

Frozen with fear, Nancy tentatively explored the cold basement floor with her tightly bound hands, her industrious rewarded by a thick shard of glass that she quickly secreted in a narrow gap in the thick brick wall.

"Found it," he muttered triumphantly, striking a match and lighting a rusted oil lamp, bathing the cold damp room in the gentle glow of the flickering light. Placing the lamp on a shelf, balanced precariously on a bundle of dusty books, her captor crouched down low on the ground, so close to Nancy, she could feel his breath warm on her skin.

"Sara, why didn't you like me?" he asked, his voice dangerously thin.

"What?" Nancy managed to choke out, shock making her breath catch in her throat.

"Why didn't you like me," he repeated angrily, his eyes glittering eerily under the faint light.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Nancy stammered uncertainly, fear creeping into her voice as she eyed the angry man uneasily.

"I would have done anything for you, Sara, anything at all," he whined, jumping to his feet and pacing the floor wildly, hardly giving Nancy a second glance as he launched into his furious tirade. The light thrown out by the lamp was painfully dim and its meager glow did little to dispel the darkness that cloaked the vast space. Encouraged by the relative obscurity the darkness afforded her, Nancy began discreetly slicing the sharp splinter of glass into the rough rope that bound her hands so painfully together, her eyes kept focused fearfully on the enraged man.

"You weren't like all the other kids, who made fun of me and mimicked my accent," he lamented cheerlessly. "I thought you were different to all the rest of them, but I was wrong. You're just a slut like all the others."

Feeling a subtle slackening in her binds, Nancy redoubled her efforts, piercing the glass deep into the rope. "Why did you kill all those girls?" she ventured nervously, curious to know what motivated him to commit such horrific deeds, but also desperate to distract the man while she unknotted the remainder of her binds.

"Those girls were bitches," he shrugged, a contemptuous look on his face. "I saw the way they looked at me, how they saw me, and it pissed me off. They deserved everything they got. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore. They're dead and now you're going to die too," he declared fervently, lunging at Nancy with a deathly sharp knife, the blade glinting evilly under the dim light .

Prepared for the attack, Nancy sprung up from the ground, her limbs free and unbound, much to the surprise of her captor.

"What the hell?" he muttered, dumbfounded, before suddenly remembering himself and plunging the knife towards Nancy's chest, the glistening blade missing her by inches.

"Bitch," he yelled in outrage, cursing as Nancy eluded his frenzied swipes of the knife and aimed a savage, well timed kick to his abdomen, the force momentarily knocking the wind out of him. With a clatter the knife fell to the floor, sliding ominously into a dark corner of the room.

Her heart beating violently in her chest, Nancy barely breathed as she raced towards the knife.

"Don't even think about it," he snarled menacingly, charging forward and pushing Nancy roughly out of the way. With a sickening thud, Nancy crashed violently into the towering block of shelves, her body aching from the impact with the unforgiving metal. Dizzy and disoriented, she slowly regained her composure, her eyes widening in horror at the scene unfolding before her.

Wobbling unsteadily, the overladen shelves lurched violently forward, sending the oil lamp careening to the ground, the glass smashing into thousands of glittering pieces and scattering haphazardly all over the floor. Lying in a mangled mess on the ground, the gentle glow of the lamp flickered playfully for a second before exploding into a fiery inferno, flames shooting high up into the air.

"Oh, God, oh God," Nancy muttered under her breath, petrified. In her worst, darkest, most terrifying nightmare, she could not have conceived of such horror. Flames were creeping steadily along the shelved walls, fiery orange-red fingers claiming the many sagging, rotting boxes with fervor and devouring them in an explosive blast. Worse still, her captor was nowhere to be seen, possibly a victim of the heady noxious fumes but more likely in hiding, waiting for a chance to pounce on her and finish the job he had set out to do, exerting the maximum amount of pain possible in the process.

Sweat prickling in beads on her burning skin, Nancy gazed feverishly around. The fire was gaining in intensity by the second, flames licking dangerously close to the wooden staircase, her only means of escape from this burning hellhole. Smoke thick in the air made Nancy erupt in a violent fit of coughing. She had to go. It was now or never. Pressing a sweat-slicked hand to her mouth, Nancy ran, flames swarming the basement as her bare feet slapped on the hard stone floor. The wood scorched and blistering, Nancy scrabbled frantically up the steps, euphoria surging through her as she caught sight of the door through the dense smoke.

Almost there, she thought desperately, reaching out to grasp hold of the door when the ceiling collapsed in a spectacular shower of blazing debris, knocking Nancy unconscious.


	13. Chapter 13

Nervous tension bubbling under his skin, Ned's car screeched around every treacherously sharp corner and bend, his speed escalating dangerously as he drew ever further into the startlingly isolated countryside, toward the address Carson had given him. The flat, lush fields, golden with sheaves of ripening corn, gave way to stonier, rockier ground as Ned turned off the highway and twisted down the narrow country roads, the number of houses steadily dwindling as he edged further into the rambling wilderness.

It was almost too much to hope for, that Nancy would be found safe and unharmed in the house, awaiting rescue with a tear streaked smile and a couple of innocuous bruises, and the rational side of Ned insisted that all this was probably just a figment of a teenager's vivid imagination, a false lead, another dead end. But a bigger, more forceful part of him screamed that Nancy could be there, that she could be back in his arms in a few short hours and this was the part of him that spurred him on, kept him going, his heart pounding painfully as every bump and bend brought him a little closer to her.

The glare of flashing blue lights and the collective wails of sirens screaming in the air issued Ned a dubious welcome as he hurriedly parked his car behind the roaring throng of police cars already stationed outside. The house, a low stone-clad cottage, was awkwardly neglected, the garden a wild tangle of brambles and weeds and the windows cracked and grimy, a few lengths of yellowed netting strung across them to afford the occupants some small degree of privacy. Wading through the unruly lengths of grass and worriedly approaching the huddle of weary faced police officers barking frantic orders into walkie-talkies, Ned was horrified to see smoke snaking out through the cracks of the peeling front door.

"God, Nancy's not in there, is she?" Ned demanded, panic-stricken, fear tightening in his throat as he stared miserably at the wisps of smoke rising into the air, its thin blue-grey fingers taunting and teasing him. "Well is she?" he repeated insistently, his voice taking on a hard, angry edge.

"We don't know, sir," a balding, middle-aged police officer confirmed uncomfortably, quickly averting his eyes from the anguish on the younger man's face. "We've requested backup from the fire department and they're on their way."

"You've got to be joking," Ned shot back, horrified, battering at the door with a series of violent, frenzied kicks. "She could be dead by then. I'm going in."

"Sir, we can't allow you to do that," a harried police officer yelled at him. "We have no confirmation that Ms. Drew is even in the building and when the fire department gets here, they will have her out on no time, assuming she is even in there."

Ignoring him, Ned lunged wildly at the door, kicking it with such force that it splintered and cracked, the door sagging pitifully on its hinges, creaking miserably as it swung gently in the breeze.

The vague bellow of protests and shouts from the surrounding police officers echoed in the air as Ned stumbled through the dense fog of smoke, obliterating his view, burning his eyes, choking him.

"Nancy," he called out desperately, erupting in violent fit of coughing as the smoke filled his lungs. "Nancy, it's Ned. Are you here?"

Though there was no visible sign of Nancy, no evidence of her ever being in this godforsaken shack, Ned felt her presence burn within him.

Edging through the sparsely furnished house, the rooms clouded in a thick veil of smoke, panic mounted in Ned. Where the hell was she? The bed, an untidy ball of sheets and blankets, was empty, and the sole occupant of the kitchen, a limp, lifeless hare, hung from the ceiling, glassy-eyed. Further examination of the rooms yielded nothing but a few dusty hardback books and a battered blue-grey suitcase holding a pitiful collection of faded, well worn shirts and trousers.

She wasn't here.

At the gut wrenching realization, Ned's heart beat painfully, threatening to burst with frustration, when he spotted a crudely fashioned heavily bolted door set into the wall, the red paint bubbling in little blisters on the surface, and suddenly he knew.

Grasping the door handle, a searing pain shot through Ned as the burning metal scorched his hand. Cursing in annoyance, he stepped back and channeling all the rage collected through hours of worry and anguish, he kicked the door with such tremendous force it splintered and buckled almost immediately, the broken pieces crumbling to the ground in defeat.

Scrambling down the uneven, shaky steps, shock coursed through Ned as a fiery wall of flames rose up to greet him, the red tongues of fire licking greedily at his skin.

"Nancy," he roared desperately, his words lost over the roaring, crackling of the flames. The fire was gaining in momentum and flames curled menacingly around the ceiling and walls, bathing the cellar in their monstrous light.

"Nancy," he screamed again, barely even feeling the fierce heat as he gazed frantically around, his perseverance rewarded when a flash of bright blue winked at him under a pile of fallen debris.

"Nancy," he roared out, terror-stricken, "Nancy, it's Ned. Can you hear me?"

Delving into the charred blackened pieces and pushing them aside, Ned's throat tightened as he caught the first glimpse he'd had of his girlfriend in almost two days. Her face bloodied and bruised and her body limp and lifeless, Nancy was barely recognizable as the girl he'd made love to only nights before. Dropping to his knees, Ned placed his fingers shakily on the soft, tender skin of her neck and almost cried out with relief when he felt a weak but steady pulse beating under her skin.

"Nancy, you're safe now. I love you, okay?" he finished tenderly, scooping her up in his arms and protectively holding her close before running up the steps of the burning basement, clearing it just seconds before the raging inferno exploded into a glowing, fiery ball.

Staggering out onto the grass, the cool air rushing around him a welcome respite from the stifling heat of the blaze, Ned laid Nancy gently down before collapsing, exhausted, coughing and choking, onto the ground beside her.

---------------------

A hellish scene, filled with the screaming wails of fire engines and the frenzied actions of harried police officers, guns menacingly in hand, poised for action, met Carson as he raced toward the burning house, the ragged bright orange flames shooting high up into the air. Thoughts of Nancy, his little girl, trapped and terrified, screaming for him to help her, were almost too much to bear and, heart in mouth, he pushed through the swarms of police officers and other officials, fearful what he was going to find, when he spotted his daughter stretched out on the grass, a team of EMTs working furiously on her lifeless body. Carson had expected to feel relief, happiness, something on finding his beloved daughter, not this terrible emptiness that consumed him when he finally dared to approach her lifeless form. Seeing her lying so still, battered and sickly pale, brought tears to Carson's eyes. Nancy was always such a strong, independent girl and it was heartbreaking to see her look so vulnerable and delicate in her present condition.

"Baby. It's Dad," Carson whispered gently, reaching out to hold her motionless hand in his. "Everything is going to be okay now. Don't worry about anything. I love you."

"Sir, you'll have to stand back," a harassed looking technician commanded him from his perch on the drenched ground. "We have a job to do."

"Is she going to be okay?" Carson asked pleadingly, his eyes frozen on his daughter's face.

"She's alive, if that's what you mean," the man relented finally with a sigh. "She's suffered a serious head injury and some smoke inhalation. Look, I know you're worried, but I've got to do my job," he finished, his gaze sympathetic. "They should be able to tell you more at the hospital."

Giving his daughter's hand a final, gentle squeeze, Carson watched on helplessly as she was loaded into an ambulance, the high-pitched wail of the siren heavy in the air as it screamed off down the road.

--------------------------

Her brain awash with a muddled confusion of unfamiliar sounds and smells, Nancy's eyes flickered slowly open, a blinding pain exploding inside her head as her eyes met the harsh, artificial light of a hospital room. Gratified to feel the covering of crisp, linen sheets, Nancy pulled them tightly around her aching body, smiling when she saw her father observing her worriedly, the strain and stress of the previous few days painfully evident in the dark shadows smudged under his eyes .

"Baby, I'm so glad you're okay," Carson murmured lovingly, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. "I was so worried about you. How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts and I feel really sick," Nancy moaned miserably, her voice thin and cracked.

"I know you do, baby, but the doctors have all said you'll be as good as new in a few days," he reassured her gently, placing his hand protectively on her bandaged head. "Would you like some water?"

Swallowing painfully, Nancy nodded before greedily gulping back the cool clear liquid and collapsing exhausted onto the bed.

Her eyes blinking sleepily, Nancy turned to look at her father, worry momentarily creasing her forehead. "Dad, did they catch him?" she asked, her words thick with exhaustion.

"Relax, Nan, we'll talk later. I promise, okay?" he whispered soothingly, gently brushing back some errant strands of reddish blonde hair from her face . "You need your rest."

Too tired to argue, Nancy's eyes drooped wearily. "I'm really sorry I worried you, Daddy," she mumbled into her pillow before dropping off into a deep, dreamless

sleep.

--------------------------

Exhausted, his clothes soot stained and smelling faintly of smoke, Ned finally escaped the clutches of the overly concerned emergency room staff to find out how Nancy was faring after her terrifying ordeal. The beleaguered team of doctors and nurses, though pleasant and understanding, had brushed his inquiries politely aside as they had carried out a series of frustratingly long tests on him, insisting that Nancy would be fine after a couple days' rest. Images of her sprawled lifeless and unconscious on the grass were still frozen painfully in his brain, and the insistent reassurances from the doctors did little to quell his growing unease. After pacing the seemingly endless succession of corridors, all painted in a vast sterile white, Ned finally caught sight of Carson Drew retreating quietly from a darkened hospital room he presumed to be Nancy's. An sudden, unsettling feeling descended over him when he spotted the uniformed policeman stationed outside the room, a gun clasped rigidly in his hand.

"How's she doing, sir?" Ned asked apprehensively, rushing over to approach the man, his stomach unknotting a little when he spotted the first real hint of a smile he had seen on the man's face in days .

"She's a little shook up, but she's fine," Carson answered, rubbing his eyes wearily. "The doctor stitched up the wound on her head and she's on some medication for pain, but other than that she's going to be okay."

"Thank God for that," Ned exclaimed in relief, peering nervously towards the door. "Do you think I could go in and see her?"

"She's asleep at the moment but I know she'd love to see you," Carson smiled tiredly, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. "Why don't you go in and wait for her to wake up."

Nodding gratefully, Ned made an eager move towards the door, desperate to be with Nancy, when Carson's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Ned," he began hesitantly, causing the younger man to wheel around and face him uncertainly. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you enough for saving Nancy's life."

"It was nothing, sir. Really," Ned answered honestly, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot as he stared the man in the eye. "I love Nancy more than anything in the world. I would do anything for her and I know if you had got there first, you would have done exactly the same thing."

"Still, it was a very brave thing you did and I just want to acknowledge it," Carson replied with feeling, reaching out to shake Ned's hand. "Now, I really need to go home and catch a few hours' sleep," he muttered wearily, rummaging in his pocket and noisily withdrawing his car keys. "I feel like I haven't slept in about a week."

"I know the feeling," Ned grimaced ruefully, saying a hurried goodbye to Carson before peering tentatively around the door of Nancy's room.

Her face washed clean of the blood from the wound on her forehead and the worst of the cuts and bruises concealed under a heavy layer of bandaging, Nancy looked almost normal, or at least as close to normal as anyone could be after being captured by a suspected serial killer. Sprawled on her back, the creased and rumpled sheet tucked under her chin, Nancy's soft waves of reddish-blonde hair spilled out over the blankets like a golden fan. Hesitantly stepping across the quiet room, careful not to let his sneakers squeak noisily over the highly polished linoleum floor, Ned collapsed gratefully into a cushioned chair at Nancy's bedside, the strain of the previous few days finally beginning to take their toll on him. Bleary-eyed with exhaustion, Ned rested his head wearily on the edge of Nancy's bed, her hand clasped tightly in his, and when at last he could resist no longer, drifted off into an unpleasant, oft-interrupted sleep.

The soft chattering of the nurses' gentle voices drifting in from the corridor roused Nancy slowly into consciousness. Her head throbbing miserably, Nancy rubbed her eyes sleepily, smiling as she made out Ned's still sleeping form passed out on the bed beside her.

"Ned, wake up," Nancy whispered gently, pressing a kiss to his dark, unruly hair.

His eyes flickering slowly open, Ned gazed at Nancy in happy surprise, smiling as she squeezed in close beside him, tucking her head comfortably under his chin. Staring at her for a long moment, Ned took her hand in his and brought it gently to his lips. "God, I'm so glad you're okay, Nan," he whispered softly, laying a tender hand on the thick swath of gauze wrapped around her head and eyeing her worriedly. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, thanks to you." Nancy answered with a small smile, her voice weak and scratchy.

"God, you really scared me," Ned murmured softly, laying his head on the pillow next to Nancy and gazing tenderly into her blue eyes . "I thought I'd never see you again and then when I got to the house and saw it was on fire, I...I thought you were dead," he finished wretchedly, his voice thick with emotion.

Her heart plummeting at the look of horror still evident on his face, Nancy burrowed closer to Ned, seeking comfort and reassurance from the warmth of his touch. "I love you, Ned, and I'm sorry for putting you through all of this. Really," she whispered softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Stop right there, Nan," Ned replied firmly, tightening his hold on her and idly stroking her long reddish-blonde locks. "This is not your fault and you have nothing to be sorry about. I love you and I don't want to hear you talk like that anymore, okay?"

"Okay, Nickerson, whatever you say," Nancy agreed, a small smile spreading across her face. "I'm so glad to be back though," she added quietly, enjoying the feeling of his arms locked tightly around her. "I was so scared being locked in that disgusting basement. There were rats and mice everywhere and I was constantly terrified he was going to kill me and then when the fire started, I really thought that was it," Nancy finished with a shudder, her voice trailing away.

Pulling her closer, Ned placed a supportive hand over hers and murmuring comforting noises urged her to continue.

"Ned, he thought I was my mother," Nancy sighed brokenly, tears prickling at her eyes. "It was awful. He kept shouting at me, threatening me, telling me about all the girls he had killed and then tried to stab me with this knife that would have gutted me in seconds if the fire hadn't started," Her body wracked with sobs, Nancy buried her face in her hands, the realization of how lucky an escape she'd actually had finally hitting her.

"You're okay, Nan," Ned whispered reassuringly, rocking her gently in his arms. "You're safe now, so don't worry, I'll make damn sure that nothing like this will ever happen to you again."

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Sighing with exasperation as she flicked idly through the glossy pages of a fashion magazine, Nancy's eyes lit up with excitement when she spotted Bess and George peeking hesitantly into the room, concern bright on their faces.

"Nancy, thank God you're okay," Bess murmured tearfully, rushing over, her blonde hair pulled back in a limp ponytail, her face devoid of its usual lipgloss and eyeshadow. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Nancy admitted, smiling weakly. "But it's nothing some really strong painkillers and a few extra sticks of concealer can't handle. How are you guys doing?"

"How do you think, Nancy?" George responded with a strained smile. "We were worried sick about you. I'm so glad you're okay though," she added softly, reaching out to give her friend a gentle hug.

"Me too," Bess chimed in, flinging her arms over-enthusiastically around Nancy, tears pooling in her eyes. "Sorry, I just can't seem to stop crying," she admitted tearfully, swiping a hand across her tear streaked face. "I'm just so glad you're okay."

Darting a look at George, Nancy was surprised to see that George, usually so quick to tease her cousin about her overdramatic tendencies, was a little teary eyed herself, and Nancy could sense she was struggling to keep her own emotions in check.

"Guys, I'm fine, really," Nancy reassured her friends firmly, tentatively exploring her heavily bandaged head. "It's only a few stitches and the doctor said I'll be out in a couple of days, so quit worrying, okay?"

"Okay," the cousins replied in unison, smiles spreading across their faces as they perched on the side of Nancy's bed and began to fill her in on all the juicy tidbits of gossip she had missed over the past few days.

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After just two days of being confined to her joyless hospital room, the novelty of being waited on hand and foot was rapidly wearing thin. Nancy felt increasingly edgy and restless and longed to free herself of the dreadful monotony of flicking aimlessly through

television channels and skimming pointless magazine articles all day long. Worse still, her father had closed off any discussion concerning the case, insisting she needed her rest, and even Ned remained tightlipped, brushing aside questions with carefully

composed ignorance.

Hearing the door creaking open, Nancy looked up and smiled when she spotted her father crossing the room, a crumpled newspaper folded carefully under his arm. "How are you feeling, Nan?" he asked gently, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Dad, I'm so bored," Nancy complained, sighing in Bess-like dramatic proportions. "If I see one more episode of Dr. Phil or Oprah, I'm seriously going to go crazy."

"So you're fine then," Carson chuckled knowingly, tousling his daughter's hair affectionately.

"Dad, I'm fine, I'm better than fine. Really. Can't you work your magic and sweet talk Dr. Roberts into discharging me today? Dad, please, I'm begging you."

"No can do, I'm afraid, Nan," Carson laughed, shaking his head in amusement at the woebegone expression crossing Nancy's face. "Dr, Roberts thinks it's safer to keep you under observation for a few more days and I agree with him. It's for your own good, you know, Nan."

"I know." Nancy shrugged resignedly. "But it was worth a shot. Dad," she proceeded hesitantly, tucking a stray coil of hair nervously behind her ear. "If you won't talk to Dr. Roberts about discharging me early, won't you at least let me ask you a few questions about the case?"

"Nancy, we've spoken about this," Carson responded warily. "And I promise you, we'll talk once you're feeling a little better."

"Dad, I feel fine," Nancy spat out, frustrated, giving her father an indignant look. "But I know there's something you're not telling me. Now come on, Dad, spill."

Sighing resignedly, Carson turned to his daughter reluctantly, worry etched onto his face. "Nancy, if I tell you this, you've got to promise me you won't do anything stupid."

Nodding impatiently, Nancy urged him to continue, an unsettling mixture of dread and excitement swelling inside of her as she waited for him to begin.

"Nancy, he wasn't caught," Carson admitted after a long silence, eyeing his daughter anxiously as he waited for her reaction. "By the time the police reached the house, he was gone, and they've had no luck apprehending him since."

"He's still out there?" Nancy murmured in a shocked voice, her head shaking in disbelief. "I can't believe he escaped. Dad, this guy's totally unhinged. It's only a matter of time before he abducts another girl, if he hasn't done so already. I've got to get out of here," she mumbled distractedly, peeling off the layers of sheets and edging her way out of the bed.

"Nancy, this is exactly the reason why I didn't want to tell you any of this," Carson admonished his daughter harshly, pushing her back onto the bed and pulling the sheets up under her chin. "Christ, he's already tried to kill you and now you want to go and start round two? Over my dead body," he finished wearily, wrapping a protective arm around her rigidly set shoulders. "You have to let the police take it from here. It's just too dangerous, and I can't bear the thought of you being anywhere near him again."

Needles of guilt prickled at Nancy as she took in her father's anguished state. Lying on the bed, agitated and distressed, she forced herself to try and relax.

"You must swear to me that this is it, Nancy," Carson declared sternly, taking her hand in his. "I don't want you involved in any way with this case. Do you understand?"

Nodding mutely, Nancy managed to mumble a few vaguely convincing reassurances before turning away from her father, discontented and feigning some sort of spontaneous headache.

She knew she was evil to be even thinking about it, that she would risk disappointing her father, hurting Ned, but it was too late now, too much had happened and she was too involved. Hearing the door click shut as her father retreated from the room, Nancy quietly pulled out her cell phone and, punching in the familiar series of numbers, waited for her call to be answered.


	14. Chapter 14

**It feels like forever since I've done anything with this story but I got strangely motivated to get back to writing it over the past week or so, so here we are!**

**Enjoy!**

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Her head swimming dizzily, Nancy leaned against the cold porcelain sink for support as she gazed worriedly into the mirror, the overpowering odor of bleach permanently hanging in the air of the hospital only serving to worsen her nausea. Her face had seen worse, Nancy concluded with false optimism, though exactly when that was, she couldn't really remember. Running her fingers over the broken, bloodied skin, she realized that although it would be impossible to completely disguise the unsightly cuts and bruises, a generous application of concealer would certainly hide the worst of the damage. The heavy bandaging pressed onto her forehead was more worrying and, making a swift decision, Nancy ripped the dressing from her face, her stomach turning unpleasantly at the sight of the stitches pulling the still-bloodied gash together. Swallowing uncomfortably, Nancy rummaged in her shoulder bag for a more discreet bandage, wincing as she pressed it gently over the wound.

Running her fingers despondently through the tangled lengths of her hair, Nancy pulled a hairbrush gently through the red-gold strands before carefully arranging her bangs so they hung limply over her forehead, the hair covering the conspicuous white bandage. A quick dusting of bronzer over her cheeks served to brighten the dull grayness of her skin and analyzing herself critically in the mirror, Nancy knew that although she still looked like shit, the evidence of her encounter with a serial killer had been dramatically reduced by the magical powers of make-up that Bess had always attested to.

Shuffling wearily back into her joyless hospital room, Nancy was forced to sit down momentarily on the edge of the bed, dropping her head into the palms of her hands in an effort to quell the growing nausea. The doctors had warned her about this, not that they'd needed to, head injuries being worryingly run-of-the-mill in Nancy's everyday life. Reaching for the overnight bag that Bess had thoughtfully packed for her, after being completely horrified by the hideous green gown the hospital had provided for her, Nancy couldn't help but smile on finding her favorite jeans-and-sweater combination. Gingerly pulling off the pink tank top and shorts that her friend had seen as a fitting substitution to the staple hospital gown, Nancy almost screamed out in agony as a searing pain shot through her shoulder. Having spent the previous days lying stationary in the hospital bed, her senses heavily dulled by the pain medication, it had been easy to underestimate the level of damage done to her body. Now forced into action, it was a different matter and Nancy's body screamed in protest at the strain being prematurely imposed upon it.

Her eyes clenched shut in pain, Nancy tugged the soft wool sweater over her head before collapsing, exhausted, on the bed, the simple act of dressing draining her already depleted reservoir of strength. Her cell phone sounded dully beside her and Nancy grabbed it apprehensively, her stomach clenching in sudden guilt when she saw that the message was from Ned.

Nancy's finger hovered indecisively over the phone's power button before she turned it hastily off. Ned's message would undoubtedly be sweet and thoughtful and Nancy wasn't certain she could handle the emotional consequences that would result from reading his words. She needed to be clear-thinking and rational, all the things she would most definitely not be if she even allowed herself to think of Ned for a single moment. Her fingers curled around the now blank display of her cell phone, Nancy pushed the hard plastic into the deepest recesses of her shoulder bag, commanding herself to shut out all thoughts of Ned and channel her energies instead to focus on the case. Casting a quick glance at the bedside clock, the dim green slowly blinking the time, Nancy realized the cab would be waiting outside.

_It was now or never. She needed to go. _

Shoving her wallet into her pocket, Nancy discarded her bag impulsively on the unmade hospital bed, not wanting to put further strain on her already aching shoulders. Stepping tentatively onto the floor, Nancy took a deep breath before edging warily towards the door. A guard had been stationed permanently on the door since she'd been admitted to the hospital and Nancy was certain that he wouldn't be convinced by a bright smile and a muttered explanation that she wanted to go grab a cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria.

_He'll probably just insist on going for me,_ Nancy realized dully, her brain sluggishly struggling to come up with convincing scenarios as to why she needed to leave the room.

Her fingers squeezed around the door handle, Nancy determined that a mention of some womanly problem might do the trick; the police officer with his coarse mannerisms and muttered monosyllabic replies didn't appear to be the most sensitive of men. But peeking around the door, Nancy breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the police officer had inexplicably left his post and, arms folded, was now standing outside the nurses' station, his eyes glued to something unfolding on the television. Dr. Roberts was distracted by a newly admitted patient and the nurses' station was empty, the nurses busying themselves on their morning rounds, their trolleys clattering quietly as they were rolled through the wards.

_This was it, _Nancy realized, bracing herself as she crept noiselessly out onto the corridor. _She wasn't going to have this chance again._

Pressing the button to call the elevator, Nancy glanced nervously around, her breath quickening at every step or sound, and it was only when the elevator door slid shut with a resounding thud that Nancy finally began to relax.

Though the sun was beating down unmercifully from the cloudless sky, Nancy shivered in spite of herself as she stepped through the automatic door of the hospital and out into the crowded parking lot. She was weak and shaky and only the thought of hospital security flying out through the hospital door stopped her from taking a very tempting rest on the curb.

Scanning the stream of cars parked haphazardly along the entrance the hospital, the owners having blatantly ignored the no parking signs, Nancy breathed a sigh of relief on spotting the black-and-amber checkered taxicab and forced herself to quicken her pace, such was her desperation to remove herself from the hospital building.

"Drew?" the driver drawled questioningly, opening the cab door and ushering her inside after she had confirmed her identity with a curt nod.

Winding down her window, Nancy exhaled a shaky breath as the cab peeled slowly away from the curb, willing her nausea to subside for at least the duration of the ten-minute ride to the Chicago P.D.

"You don't look too good," the cab driver declared knowingly, catching her eye as he glanced curiously in the rearview mirror. "Were you in a car accident or something?"

"Yeah, something like that," Nancy replied dismissively, her attention focused on a news report that crackled faintly from the radio. "Would you mind turning up the radio?" she requested, squeezing her eyes tightly together as the cab was jolted yet again over another pothole.

Twisting the knob on the radio, the driver clucked disapprovingly. "What is our world coming to when you can't trust that your daughter will come home from school in one piece?" he tutted disapprovingly, Nancy straining to listen over his unnecessary patter of commentary when disappointedly the commanding voice of the newscaster wound the report to a close.

"Sorry, what was that you were you saying?" Nancy pressed the cab driver impatiently, sensing by the tone of his voice and the urgency in that of the newscaster, that there were further, even more shocking developments in the case.

"There was another girl taken this morning," he informed her with a gloomy sigh, his attention momentarily distracted as a car braked suddenly in front of him. Cursing in annoyance, he shook his head in exasperation before reestablishing eye contact with Nancy again in the rearview mirror. "They say she's only fourteen, this girl," he continued, his expression thoughtful as he negotiated his way through a busy intersection.

"Fourteen?" Nancy echoed in shock, wondering what prompted the serial killer to suddenly change his victim profile so drastically.

"I know, it's hard to believe," the driver nodded solemnly, his expression animated as he launched into an obviously well-rehearsed tirade on the failings of the American justice system. Nancy barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes in annoyance at his simplistic view of what was undoubtedly a far more complex matter.

"Can you remember what else was reported?" Nancy cut in, hating to interrupt the man when he was in the throes of what was obviously a very passionate issue, but needing him to focus on the matter on hand.

"Of course," he shot back brusquely, honking irritably at some driver who cut in suddenly in front of him. "It's been all over the news since I started my shift this morning. Her mother was on, pleading with the killer to release her daughter. Apparently she's diabetic and she's worried what might happen if her daughter doesn't get her meds. It's a terrible mess," he finished, shaking his head sadly.

"God, the poor girl," Nancy sighed helplessly, her mind wandering back to the horrific conditions of her own confinement and wondering how in hell a fourteen year old girl could handle it.

_If she was even still alive,_ Nancy pondered grimly, unable to forget that both Melanie and Jenny were dead within minutes of the initial attack.

Pulling in alongside the Chicago P.D., Nancy sighed as her gaze swept over the frenzied madness, the car lot choked with reporters and other local media clamoring around the station and vying for interviews with the investigating detectives.

"Thank you," Nancy mumbled appreciatively as she pulled out her wallet and pressed some crumpled notes into the cab driver's hand.

"No problem. Now you take care of yourself," the driver advised her kindly, digging in his pockets for her change before peeling away slowly from the curb.

Making her way along the familiar maze of corridors that led to Detective Harris's office, Nancy paused curiously, her hand still clung protectively to the door handle as she pushed her way into the violent crimes unit. The police department, normally a hive of activity, was today deathly quiet, detectives and police officers alike gathered around the small, antiquated television mounted on the wall. The scene oddly mirrored that of the police officer at the nurses' station in the hospital and, intrigued, Nancy stepped forward, feeling sick to the pit of her stomach seeing what she presumed was the missing girl's parents, their eyes hollow as they pleaded for the safe return of their daughter. The missing girl's name was Helen, Nancy quickly learned, and enthralled, she was just listening to her mother's tearful recount of the last time she'd seen her daughter when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Startled, Nancy jumped, her body still a tense tangle of nerves, relaxing only slightly when she realized it was Detective Harris, the woman's eyes scrutinizing her with a mixture of both concern and disbelief.

"Nancy, what in God's name are you doing here?" the woman demanded impatiently, her gaze straying, as Nancy had known it would, to the clumsily dressed wound on her forehead. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

"The doctor released me this morning," Nancy mumbled red-faced, hating having to lie to someone she respected so much, but knowing that Detective Harris would have her sent straight back to the hospital if she knew the truth. Not that that couldn't still happen, Nancy realized dully, freezing every time the telephone rang, wondering if this could be the hospital or worse, Carson Drew, demanding to know where his daughter was.

"But your head..." the detective murmured, uttering an audible sigh as she ushered Nancy into her office.

"It's just a few stitches," Nancy scoffed openly, her head aching at the energy required just to maintain the charade. "The doctor just applied extra bandages to ensure that there would be no infection. It looks worse than it is, honestly," she finished, flashing the detective a tired smile.

"Really?" Detective Harris replied, looking doubtful as she pulled out a seat for Nancy to sit on. "Nancy, you know, it's not that I'm happy to see you. I am. But you've already been through so much and I think you need to rest. You don't look well. Does your dad know you're here?"

"Not exactly," Nancy admitted grudgingly, taking a seat opposite the detective gratefully. "He'd probably kill me if I knew I was here. But this is not his choice," she declared forcibly, ignoring the almost blinding pain that exploded in her head as she continued to argue her point.

"This is a bad idea, Nancy," Detective Harris disagreed firmly, gesturing to the photographs of the murdered girls pinned to the wall in a bid to prove her point. "You were very lucky to escape relatively unscathed the first time and it would be foolish to presume that you'd be so fortunate the second. I'm sorry, Nancy, but I can't allow it. I am going to get Officer Hicks to drop you off at home," she decided, her expression apologetic as she picked up the phone and started dialing Officer Hicks's number.

"You might not have a choice," Nancy sighed helplessly, resting back into her chair dejectedly. "This guy doesn't have a conscience, Jane. I met him, remember? And the parents on the television," she snorted, Detective Harris settling the phone back hesitantly in its cradle at the look of abject frustration on her face. "He won't give a shit that she's only fourteen or that she's a freshman in high school. He's deranged, Detective. He doesn't care. The only thing I'm surprised about is that they haven't found her body yet."

"Nancy," the detective began warningly before she was cut off abruptly again.

"At the moment it seems I am the only lead you have and every second you and your team spend here is another second wasted. He will kill Helen, Detective," Nancy declared solemnly, her blue eyes widening for effect. "And then he'll kill someone else and someone then else and he'll never stop," she shrugged, shaking her red-blonde hair resignedly. "This has to end now."

"She's right," a male voice sounded from behind them and, turning around, Nancy saw Agent Keane stride purposely across the office and settle himself rigidly on the edge of Detective Harris's desk.

"Do you have any new information, Agent Keane," the detective demanded of him impatiently, Nancy sensing by the pointed looks she was darting at the FBI agent that she was not entirely pleased at the way he had spread himself out so casually in her office.

"The guy we're looking for is an Edward Smith," the FBI agent replied curtly, setting down on a photograph of the man on the desk. Though in the photograph Smith was definitely a little younger and his hair was more neatly maintained, Nancy instantly recognized him as the man who had captured her and who had presumably murdered her mother, and she felt instantly nauseated. "The neighbors confirm that this is the man who resided in the house. Apparently Smith had lived there since his mother's death and according to the neighbors, he rarely left the house."

"Do they have any idea of where he might have gone?" Nancy asked, unable to drag her eyes from the photograph of her would-be murderer.

"As I said, he kept to himself, rarely spoke a word to anybody, and although he had lived in the area for most of his life, the neighbors described him as a veritable stranger," Detective Keane replied resignedly as he reached into his briefcase for a map and spread it across the desk. "The BAU have had a look at this and being honest, the search is a logistic nightmare," he sighed, running his finger across the red marks drawn carefully on the surface of the map. "To be more specific it's spread out over a radius of seventy-five miles. We have agents and officers assigned to begin searching the most likely areas but there's been no solid leads as of yet."

"Seventy-five miles?" Nancy echoed disbelievingly, realizing the abysmal chances of the FBI recovering the girl in time.

Detective Harris looked poised to launch into more detailed questioning when Clare, one of the department's secretaries, poked her head around the door, raking her fingers nervously through her cropped brown hair as she gestured madly at the phone. "It's him," she mouthed, her eyes wide as she hastily left the room.

Picking up the telephone carefully, Detective Harris swallowed heavily before placing the receiver to her ear. "Detective Harris," she answered cautiously, placing the call on speaker phone so Nancy and Agent Keane could listen in.

"Hello Detective," the voice rasped creepily back before descending into a violent fit of coughing, his harsh barking cough reverberating around the room. "I believe you've been looking for me,"

At the sound of the familiar voice, Nancy froze. "It's him," she confirmed shakily with a nod.

"Do you have Helen Mc Kenzie?" Detective Harris calmly asked, though by the expression on her face, Nancy guessed she was anything but.

"I do, Detective," he answered playfully back, the hint of a chuckle present in his voice. "But of course, you already know that."

"Is Helen alive?" the detective demanded impatiently, ignoring the man's attempts to goad her.

"She is. For now," he blithely responded, obviously getting a sick thrill out of interacting with the lead detective in the case.

"Helen is diabetic," the detective advised him in a serious tone. "She will get very sick if she doesn't take her medication. You need to let her go," she demanded, determined to appeal to the man's better senses. "She's only fourteen. You don't want the death of such a young girl on your conscience, now do you?"

"She's only fourteen," the man returned mockingly. "Do you think I care what age she is?"

His face red with exertion, Officer Hicks stuck his head quietly into the room. "We have a location on Smith," he informed them in excited, hushed tones, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Motioning for the officer to get out of the office, Agent Keane pulled out his cell phone and requested immediate backup from his team.

"I'll let Helen go on one condition," Smith declared abruptly, Nancy and Detective Harris looking shocked at his sudden change of heart.

"What condition?" the detective prompted him cautiously.

"I'll let Helen go if I can have Sara instead. It's a fair trade, one girl for the other. You have one hour to make your decision and if I hear nothing after that, I'll presume you've made your choice and Helen is dead. Understood?"

"Sara?" the detective echoed in confusion. "I don't know who you're talking about?"

"Do you think I'm a fool, Detective?" he sneered condescendingly, his words taking on a hard, grating form. "I'll call back in ten minutes with the details." He banged the phone pointedly down, his voice replaced with the dull echo of the ringtone.

Making sense of his words, Nancy went white. "He means me," Nancy spoke quietly, raising her gaze to meet that of the detective and the FBI agent. "Sara was my mother's name. He thinks I'm her."

At that stark realization, Nancy gulped audibly, the feeling of shock and horror that had enveloped her mirrored on both Agent Keane and Detective Harris's faces. "The only way Smith will release Helen is if he can take me instead."

"You can forget it, Nancy," Detective Harris disagreed, the resolute expression on her face telling Nancy that there was no way she was going to change her mind. "For one, it would be against all department protocol. And anyway, we've got a location on Smith and with the element of surprise on our side, I believe we've got a pretty good chance of getting Helen out alive."

"Don't you think he wouldn't have known you were going to trace the call?" Nancy argued vehemently, looking to Agent Keane for support. "Anyone who would have even the slightest knowledge of police workings would know that."

"Smith definitely knows," Agent Keane confirmed through gritted teeth. "The call was traced to a building in Westmont almost fifty miles from here. The bastard knows we won't get there before he gets a chance to make his twisted deal."

"Then we send the SWAT team in, get them to flood the place," Detective Harris declared decisively, pushing back her chair and getting hastily to her feet in her eagerness to coordinate her team and get to Westmont.

"BAU suspect the house is rigged so the explosives unit will have to make sure the place is secure before they go in. That could take several hours," the FBI agent explained, his frustration marked on his face. "My men are on their way now and are under orders not to enter the house until they receive clearance from explosives. Until then, that girl is on her own."

"What are we going to do?" Detective Harris agonized, pressing her fingers against her temples, the dilemma clear on her face.

"Let him take me instead," Nancy pleaded, trying not to think about what her father or Ned would say if they realized the deadly position she was putting herself in. "You both know I have a much better chance than Helen of getting out of there alive. Besides, he trusts me," she insisted, gazing beseechingly at Detective Harris.

"You know I can't allow this, Nancy," she countered firmly, her expression tense as she settled back rigidly onto her chair. "He'll kill you,"

"Then give me a gun," Nancy replied defiantly, the thought of pressing the cold hard butt of her gun against Smith's head undeniably satisfying. "I've got a pretty good aim."

Detective Harris looked still horribly conflicted but it was Agent Keane who answered her. "We'll give you a gun and make sure you're vested too."

"This is madness," Detective Harris declared, shaking her head fiercely at the notion of such a suggestion. "I won't allow it, Agent Keane, I simply won't. This is in direct violation of every department regulation I stand for."

"The SWAT team are already stationed around the building and as soon as they get a clear shot they'll take it. I know what I'm doing, Detective. You've got to trust me."

"I know," the detective sighed uncertainly, though she turned to Nancy and quizzed her worriedly. "Are you sure you can handle Smith?"

Nancy wasn't sure but she nodded in answer just the same, a tingle of apprehension running down her spine at the mere thought of seeing Smith again.

"What will I say when he calls?" Detective Harris demanded nervously as Agent Keane barked orders down the phone for the necessary arrangements for Nancy to be made.

"Just as we agreed," Agent Keane replied firmly, sliding his cell phone shut and slipping it into his pocket. "Tell him we are bringing Sara to him now just as long as Helen is still alive."

The phone rang then suddenly, the shrill tones punctuating the silence.

"What is your decision, Detective?" Smith chuckled darkly, the hard edge of his words hanging in the air.

"You can have Sara," Detective Harris confirmed cheerlessly, her inner turmoil visible on her face.

"Wise choice, Detective," he sneered humorlessly back, reeling off a few unnecessary details mockingly before abruptly hanging up.

"It's time to go, Nancy," Agent Keane motioned to her gently, Nancy hardly feeling any pain as she pulled herself from the chair and followed the FBI agent out of the door.


	15. Chapter 15

**I haven't worked on this story in quite a while but I got the motivation to get back to it during the week. (Finally!)**

**Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys the chapter! Feedback is appreciated:)**

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The pale sunshine and serene blue sky seemed jarring as the police cruiser sped over roads hemmed in by fields of varying greens and golds. Three women were dead and the fourteen-year-old girl being held captive in whatever hell hole they were being dragged to would be incredibly lucky to escape with her life; somehow, Nancy expected black rainclouds and stormy skies. Instead, the day was bordering on perfect; a light breeze relieved the almost stifling temperatures. Dread filled Nancy as the car trundled over the last few miles of the journey. Vast swatches of green stretched for as far as the eye could see and there was little sign of civilization now, just a few lonely farmhouses dotted on the horizon.

Her head was aching violently, and an explosive pain seared into her brain as the car jolted over a particularly deep pothole. Struggling to control the growing nausea, Nancy took a deep, ragged breath, causing Detective Harris to glance at her in concern.

"Nancy, are you okay?" the older woman murmured worriedly, placing a steadying hand on Nancy's shoulder. "You look very pale."

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Nancy replied dismissively, though the truth was that she felt incredibly weak and nauseous. Squeezing her eyes shut, Nancy tried to counter the waves of nausea by rolling down the window and greedily inhaling deep gulps of fresh air.

"Are we all clear what our positions are?" Detective Harris demanded for what seemed like the millionth time. Both Officer Hicks and Detective Casey responded with a curt grunt of acknowledgement.

"And you, Nancy?" she demanded, still obviously very uneasy with the role Nancy was to play. "Are you sure you can handle this? Smith is going to be armed and dangerous, and you of all people know what the man is capable of."

"I know and I can handle it," Nancy replied through gritted teeth. The pain exploding behind her eyes had her almost breathless.

The plan appeared to be relatively simple; Nancy was to assume the identity of her dead mother, allowing Agent Keane to orchestrate the trade for the young teen. The SWAT team were already in position and were under orders to shoot the second they got a clean shot. Nancy had a gun; the regulation Glock strapped to her lower leg was capable of blowing the man's head clean off. But Nancy knew Smith was not going to go down without a fight. The man was deranged and desperate, and though Agent Keane had made the entire operation sound so ridiculously routine that he could have been talking about making a dinner reservation, Nancy knew differently. There were any number of complications that could ensue, and all of them could result in Nancy being left in a bloody heap on the floor while the SWAT team would scramble to take a shot.

Gazing numbly out the car window, Nancy allowed her thoughts to drift reluctantly to Ned. He would be so mad, she knew, swallowing painfully as she remembered the look of sickening relief that had crossed Ned's face when he had finally been allowed to see her at the hospital. Crossing the room to her bedside, he had embraced her gently, but there had been a desperation to Ned's actions. His arms had remained tightly around her for what had felt like forever, only reluctantly pulling away when the doctor came in to carry out some tests.

Agent Keane's voice crackled over the radio but Nancy hardly heard him, her gaze still focused vaguely on the blur of passing houses and fields. They were getting closer now; she could feel it. Soon it would be just her and Smith trapped in what would surely be some grimy, stinking dungeon, and all the SWAT teams and the FBI agents in the world couldn't help her then.

Nancy's work as a detective meant she had been placed in precarious situations before. There had been times when she had been so perilously close to mortal danger that she had cried, believing that she would never see her father or Ned again. This somehow felt different, more surreal; if she allowed herself to pass through the door of Smith's lair, there was the very real chance that she would never be seen alive again.

A hand on her shoulder jolted her to her senses. Glancing up, she saw Detective Harris gazing at her quizzically. "Nancy, we're here," she informed her with an uneasy expression. Returning the detective's gaze with slightly glazed eyes, Nancy struggled to regain hold of her senses. Her head felt so heavy and tired and the temptation to close her eyes for just a minute and allow her thoughts to drift to sweet oblivion was almost irresistible. Instead, Nancy forced herself to wakefulness and focused her attention on the scene in front of her.

"You don't have to do this, Nancy," Detective Harris reiterated solemnly, her eyes searching Nancy's blue ones as the car came to an abrupt halt, the wheels skidding noisily over the chipped driveway.

"Yeah, I do," Nancy replied softly, placing her hand lightly on the woman's arm for a moment before stepping out of the car and walking over to where Agent Keane stood waiting.

--

Draining the cold remains of his coffee, Jack Williams tossed the styrofoam cup into the garbage can, reflecting miserably on his morning. Things hadn't been going well for Jack lately and he had fallen behind with the mortgage payments. The bank was incessantly demanding money. Threatening letters lay heaped at his doorway when he returned each evening, an unwelcome greeting after a long day's work. Now, another girl had gone missing and, shuffling wearily down the tiled hospital corridor, Jack could only imagine the unspeakable horror her family was going through. It made his own worries insignificant in comparison, the man considered thoughtfully, grateful that his two children were happy and healthy, away on vacation with their mother. Reaching his post, Jack noted curiously that the door of hospital room was slightly ajar.

_That's strange, _he thought, knocking cautiously on the door, his knocks growing more insistent as the length of the answering silence grew.

"Ms. Drew," he tried again, his alarm mounting as the girl failed to respond.

"Fuck," Jack swore, cursing again under his breath as he opened the door to discover the bed empty and his captive long gone.

--

Sifting through the mountain of paperwork swamping his desk, Carson was trying to catch up with days of lost work. Though the building was quietly bustling, he had kept the door to his office firmly shut, such was his determination to trawl through the almost overwhelming volumes of work. Carole, his longtime secretary, had poked her head hesitantly around the door to enquire politely about Nancy, but other than that the day had been blessedly quiet. Carson had cancelled the majority of his appointments for the day in an attempt to make some headway through his heavy caseload.

Engrossed in the file spread across his desk, Carson gave a start when Carole's voice came over the intercom, informing him crisply that a Dr. Roberts wanted to speak with him.

"Carson Drew," Carson began warily, immediately sensing that something was wrong. "Is everything okay, Dr. Roberts?"

"Not quite," he sighed deeply. Carson's heart stopped dead in the seemingly infinite amount of time that passed before the doctor could bring himself to continue. "Your daughter is missing."

"What do you mean, 'missing?'" Carson retorted in disbelief, though as the words left his mouth he realized the absurdity of his question. Eighteen years of parenting his daughter had made him more than acquainted with Nancy's sense of fearless determination. It was a trait in his daughter that Carson both admired and feared. When it came to working a case, nothing, not even hospitalization, stopped Nancy, and Carson immediately realized where she had gone.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Roberts, but I have to go," Carson mumbled hurriedly, banging down the receiver on the cradle before impatiently punching in the number of the Chicago P.D.

--

The house was painted a bright, sunny yellow. Sweetly scented roses climbed lazily around the front door. The scene would almost be idyllic if Nancy didn't know what was lurking behind the benign facade. The slight breeze whipping around her face was working wonders and, standing shakily in front of Agent Keane, Nancy's waves of nausea were gradually subsiding.

"Are you ready, Nancy?" the FBI agent demanded, his cell phone pressed resolutely to his ear as he spoke to a fellow agent.

"I'm ready," she agreed with a curt nod, sheer fear and apprehension rapidly overriding her earlier feelings of doubt.

The hairs prickled uncomfortably on the back of Nancy's neck as she stepped warily towards the house, feeling she was being led as though by an invisible force. The memory of the evil glint in Smith's eyes as he pressed a knife against her neck was still painfully raw, but the recollection, if anything, only strengthened Nancy's resolve that she would take the bastard down for once and for all. Smith had murdered her mother and had killed four innocent people in cold blood. He had to be stopped before he tore another family apart.

--

"She did what?" Ned demanded impatiently, not even bothering to hide the anger in his voice as Carson Drew's words sounded in his head.

The cell phone gripped in a white-knuckled hold, Ned felt like punching something. He couldn't believe Nancy had been so stupid as to risk her life a second time at the hands of Edward Smith. The man was a lunatic and Ned was struck with the sudden fear that Nancy would be found like all those other girls, sprawled in a lifeless and bloody mess.

She had been lucky the first time. Ned had risked his life to drag her from Smith's burning lair, the ceiling almost collapsing on top of them in a fiery shower of orange and red.

Forcing himself to calm down, Ned cleared his throat before bringing himself to continue the conversation with Nancy's father.

"What do we do now?" he demanded impatiently, though inwardly Ned knew what he'd like to do if he got a chance: beat the bastard's head in with a baseball bat so he'd never so much as touch another woman again.

"I am going to the Chicago P.D. to find out where the hell my daughter is," Carson replied curtly, the anger palpable in his voice.

"I'm coming with you," Ned immediately agreed, making hasty arrangements to meet Carson at the precinct.

--

"You came," Smith uttered brightly, eyeing Nancy warily as she lingered apprehensively at the front door. A rifle was cocked menacingly in his hands.

Her pretty face swollen with tears, Helen's glazed expression rearranged itself into one of surprised shock as her brown eyes focused vaguely on Nancy. The girl looked relatively okay, Nancy determined with relief, her heart thumping wildly as she felt Smith's eyes rove over every inch of her slim body. An ugly, bloody cut was visible over Helen's left eye and she was worryingly pale, but other than that, Helen seemed to have survived the encounter with Smith with relatively little ill effect.

Nodding slowly, Nancy gestured pointedly at the blonde teen slumped against the wall. "If you want me to come in, Edward, you know you have to let Helen go."

"I know," he smiled widely, gazing benevolently at the blonde teen and accompanying her to the door as though he were a kindly relative.

"Goodbye, Helen," he declared delightedly, the wide smile still eerily fixed on his face as the girl practically fled the tiny cottage, her blonde hair flying behind her as she ran out into the sunny blue.

Stepping hesitantly into the cramped living room, Nancy swallowed heavily as her gaze landed on the shelves upon shelves of porcelain dolls stuffed into an antique-looking glass cabinet. Hundreds of glass eyes stared sightlessly into the room. The effect was unnerving.

"Make yourself at home, Sara," Smith smiled at her warmly, gesturing for her to take a seat on one of the heavily patterned sofas, the material faded through years of use.

"No, that's okay," Nancy declined nervously, before the sudden flash of anger that swept across Smith's face made her immediately reconsider.

The sitting room was slightly grubby. A narrow shaft of light squeezed through the tightly drawn curtains, illuminating the dust particles drifting lazily in the air.

"You want something to eat?" he asked cordially. Nancy nodded her head slowly in response, though the stale smell of microwaved food lingering in the air made her stomach turn.

Nancy needed time to gather her thoughts, to formulate a plan, and it was impossible to do that with Smith staring at her, his cold blue eyes practically penetrating through her skull. Sitting beside her, he was disturbingly close. The sight of the rifle cocked in his hand was making Nancy increasingly edgy and nervous. Smith had lost all sense of reality; the knowledge that the FBI and half of the local police force were camped outside his house hardly registered with him He was treating Nancy as though she were just paying a friendly visit and not the obvious hostage that she was. The gun was the only part of the scene that fit, that made sense; the rest, the dolls and the flowery furniture and his offers of food made Nancy feel as though Smith was only tottering on the edge of reality and ready to break at any moment.

"I'll make us something good," Smith promised with an enticing grin before reaching out and tightening his fingers around Nancy's wrist in a vice-like grip. "Of course, you'll have to come with me, Sara. I wouldn't want you running away from me like last time."

A shiver ran up Nancy's spine at his words but she hid her fear well, determined not to let Smith think even for a second that he had got the better of her. Smith's bony fingers dug in painfully to her skin and Nancy almost stumbled over the corner of the rug as he dragged her into the kitchen. He was unravelling, Nancy knew. Smith's charming smile was gone, replaced by a hard edged look of suspicion.

Yanked violently down four stone steps that led to the kitchen, Nancy's heart almost stopped when he reached into a drawer and pulled out a brutal-looking serrated knife.

"Sit down and don't even fucking think about moving," he growled in a low, dangerous voice, his pale blue eyes straying ominously to a glint of light dancing on the razor-sharp blade.

Her entire body rigid with fear, Nancy sat perched on the edge of the kitchen chair, nearly collapsing in relief as Smith removed a bloody steak from the fridge and proceeded to slice it up into precise, tidy pieces.

A forty calibre Glock was strapped securely to her leg and Nancy was comforted by the press of the cool metal against her skin. It was now or ever. Smith turned around and started rummaging noisily through a tightly packed cupboard. Seeing her chance, Nancy reached for her gun and fired.

There was a sound of a low groan and then nothing as Smith collapsed in a wretched heap on the ground, his blood splattered wildly across the walls and trailing in glistening streams of red onto the floor.


End file.
